


a pair of star crossed lovers

by Jebug26



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, guess who watched downton abbey, i think i have a thing for angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22454782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jebug26/pseuds/Jebug26
Summary: star-crossed (adjective): not favoured by the stars.oranne gets her tragical romance after all.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 72
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

Christmas had come and gone in Avonlea, and while Anne had had a magical celebration with Mathew and Marilla, as well as a few stolen moments with a certain raven-headed young man, it was the beginning of a new year for Kings County’s newest teacher; the academic year due to beginning with the blossoming of January. 

As a result of Marilla’s gentle worrying, not to mention Mathew’s spoiling of his favourite girl, Anne found herself as the recipient of more than she could carry back to her little cottage outside of Charlottetown. 

Mathew’s brand new tea set, which Anne still was unsure how he found the money to buy, was already tucked away in a trunk and ready to depart. Anne was just finishing wrapping up the last few pieces of her clothing when she heard Marilla’s call. 

“Anne! At this rate, we will arrive at Josephine Barry’s by nightfall.” 

Smiling to herself, she tucked the remaining of the belongings coming with her to her home from her gable room into a box. “I am almost finished Marilla”, Anne called back while simultaneously pausing in her tidying. 

And if anyone was to ask why it had taken Anne almost an hour to tuck away the rest of her odds and ends and tidy up her room, all one would have to do is be privy to the most precious and even more clandestine of treasures that she twirled between her fingers. 

The emerald stone (and everything it represented), encased in Gilbert’s mother's ring, was by far the best present Anne ever could have dreamed for. 

Her moments with him had been ever so short yet miraculously sweet, herself having been swept up in preparations and visiting her few remaining school friends and their families still in Avonlea. For Gilbert, well, he was not supposed to even be able to make it home for Christmas, having drawn the “short-stick”, so to speak, as the newest intern at the general hospital in Toronto and had to stay over the break. 

Anne had resigned herself to enjoying her family and friends throughout the weeks she was at home, unable to make the journey to visit him with her school schedule being so tight. Despite the dining table donning one less plate, it was a beautiful holiday; Anne adoring on and watching her niece opening her presents and Mathew and Bash attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to sing Christmas carols under a six-year-olds watchful (and critical) eye. 

She had been writing a letter to him that night, long after everyone had taken their leave for bed when the stones had started at her window. 

“Anne! Good heavens child!” 

It was Marilla’s thinning patience that drew her out of her reminiscence. 

Stuffing the ring back into its pouch and burying it away into the bottom of her handbag, Anne blew out her candle and traveled over to the window for a final goodbye. 

“Thank you, dear Snow Queen” she whispered softly, reaching out to hold the branch that fueled so much possibility and comfort during her younger days. Bestowing a small kiss to it’s scrawny and bare arm, Anne held onto the tree for a few more moments, reminiscing on how it had barely held her up on her secret dissent down in the evening of Christmas Day. 

Anne had just closed her window when Marilla stepped into her room, having missed hearing her dissent up the stairs. Unbeknownst to Anne, the older women leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, taking her charge in; her red locks sharply contrasting with the whiteness of the outside world. “Even at twenty-three, that imagination has not gone anywhere I see,” Marilla muttered with a chiding yet teasing tone. 

Anne smiled, even with the sudden interruption of her daydream. “Oh, Marilla, out of everyone in the world, you should know that my imagination is one for the history books, one that can only grow as time moves on,'' Anne offered with a wonder-filled laugh as she turned to meet her mother’s eyes. 

Marilla’s are suddenly misty though, momentarily cutting off Anne’s laugh as she took in the harrowed expression on her face. Marilla’s sentimental gaze held Anne’s eyes, offering comfort yet seemingly focusing on a world so many years, far away. 

“Marilla?” Anne asked with worry filling her voice. Several seconds passed with no response, and Anne moved to grab her hands. 

“I...Marilla-” Anne’s words faded away as the older woman pulled her hands up to her lips, placing a chaste kiss upon them. 

“Oh hush, you’ve just caught me in a moment of motherly, sentimental reminisce!” Marillia said giving Anne’s hands a small squeeze. “I was brought back to a day, many years ago now, where a little girl I knew was in a similar state. Time moves so quickly Anne, and oh...look how you have grown.”

Marilla released her hands then, moving to wipe away the wetness that had gathered around her eyes.

One step ahead of her, Anne effortlessly wiped away the tears. She then moved her hand down to cup her cheek, offering a radiant smile with her own emotions starting to bubble within. “Wherever I am and whoever I end up sharing my life within this big, old, wide world, I promise I will always come home to you, Marilla. You are my mother in every sense, and I love you so,” Anne whispered earnestly. 

The tears for both of them flowed diligently after Anne’s declaration. Marilla took the liberty of wiping them away this time, brushing back some of Anne’s hair into her updo at the same time. 

They held onto each other for a few more moments, Marilla’s lips starting to move and then stopping several times as she pondered on her next words, almost like there was something or _someone_ , she wanted to discuss. 

However, those words never came, as Mathew- having loaded the rest of Anne’s belongings and saddled up the horses- called up from the kitchen at that moment, echoing that the train was to depart in under an hour.

Breaking away from Marilla’s still soft, however, now inquisitive gaze, Anne moved over to her bed and gathered up her remaining bags. Downstairs and waiting for them, Mathew reached to take Anne’s things, sharing his own look with Marilla regarding the emotions still painted across both of their faces. 

It was only once the trio was safely at the station in Bright River and the various articles loaded onto the train, that Mathew reached to take Anne’s hand. 

“You know…” he started only to get cut off by the departure whistle. Clearing his throat, Mathew started again. “Anne, I’m not..well not one for many words. But when it comes to you, a whole dictionary couldn’t find the right ones to describe the beautiful and ever so intelligent young lady you’ve become.” 

Anne gazed at him, love radiating out of every crevice of the being that Mathew Cuthbert was. 

“I love you, our Anne of Green Gables.” Pulling her in for a final hug before departure, offering one final sentiment in her ear. “More then you will ever know”. 

It was Mathew’s whisper, and the knowing look shared between her parents, which triggered the tears once more. 

“Oh now stop your blubbering”, Marilla chided with her own voice thicker. “We have a train to catch”. 

With Mathew waving earnestly, and Marilla at her side, she was on her way back to Greenwich, back to challenging the status quo and making her mark on the world. 

As the train chugged along, Anne allowed herself one selfish moment to buy back into her daydream, as Marilla was fast asleep and no one would be any wiser to question. 

Opening up her bag, she slipped her hands in and found the ring. While hidden within the darkness and safety of the leather satchel, Anne’s ring finger adorned her newest acquisition, running her fingers over the stone and letting her mind wander to a world where she twirled all night long, side by side, with a man who she had long since fallen for as no more than a mere girl. 

And while she wasn’t the little girl who somehow wound up at Green Gables, weaving her way into the Cuthbert’s home and hearts, she certainly was not lost altogether. 

The woman that she had become was a hybrid, a mixture of faces she had never known, yet carried with her, and the physical manifestations of those that loved and cherished her on earth. 

She never knew her birth parents, but her mother’s hair and her father’s blue/grey eyes were legacies that she carried with her every day. 

Marilla’s steadfastness and pure heart were traits that have been stitched in, as well as of Mathew’s quiet yet selfless bravery braided into her essence. 

She briefly wonders what Gilbert has, and will continue to, bring into her person; how he had woven himself into her soul in such a short amount of time.

_“Well...I guess we will have eons for that”_ , Anne hummed silently as she settled back into her seat. 

The lugs of the train started to lull her to sleep and as she drifted off, her hands remained clasped together, her promise safely tucked away back into its bag, nestled in between her digits.

‘Anne of Greenwich’ didn’t have exactly the same ring, and she vowed as her body started to give in to sleep, that while she was welcoming this new future with Gilbert with open arms, she would forever be, ‘Anne of Green Gables’ at heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> Chapter one is up! I'm still writing the ending of this story now, and I feel like the warnings in the tags suffice for now... 
> 
> Yeah. I re-watched Downton Abbey and somehow forgot the jarring amount of pain that that series was. 
> 
> And now I bring you this. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Upon arriving back at her little cottage, Anne’s day had gone from bad, to worse, and now was border-lining on positively rotten.

Their train this morning had been delayed, leaving Anne and Marilla stranded at the station with all of her luggage for over three hours. 

Next, she had a pounding headache with an encroaching winter storm heading towards the Island and was subsequently suck in the carriage with not one, but four young children screaming bloody blue murder. 

After a prayer (or two) was sent out on the behalf of Marilla, they finally arrived in Morrell. 

Things seem to be looking up for the pair as they unloaded their luggage and arranged a carriage to complete the last leg of the journey back towards Anne’s second home, the tiny community of Greenwich. 

However, this verbal sentiment that Marilla expressed before Anne could remind her not to jinx their luck, turned their the day on a dime. 

The carriage lost its wheel twice in the mucky, cooper coloured mud. Each time they would hit a bump in the road, which happened quite liberally due to the nature of the country, Anne’s neck would snapback, only fueling the pain in her head and the annoyance with whatever deity she must have angered for their day to turn out to be something out of the adventure books she used to steal in the orphanage. 

By the time Anne and Marilla made it to the cottage’s front door, they were weary with travel and ravenous with hunger. Trying to lift their spirits as Anne fought with the front door, Marilla decided which stew she would make tonight in order to warm them up from the grueling journey. 

“Oh, I wish I would’ve stopped in at the station stop in Charlottetown, Anne. I should have picked up some bacon rashers to go along with dinner tonight, but we are no strangers to a simple supper and I am sure that we will make do with whatever you happen to-”. 

It was the almost primal shriek that Anne let out that startled Marilla out of her own train of verbal thoughts. 

“Anne?” She pondered, turning back around to get a better look at the door that had seemingly just offended her. 

“Are you quite alright?”

Anne sighed loudly. “Yes. Oh yes, I am just peachy keen right now- OPEN!” She cried while desperately jiggling the handle of the frozen door. 

“Here, Anne” Marilla spoke calmly while taking her place and creating space between the steaming redhead and the stubborn door. “Let me have a look at it”. 

After Marilla’s initial investigation, she walked around the side of the house, calling out for her daughter. 

“It’s not budging, Anne. I’m going to go and ask the Galloway’s for a crowbar.” Marilla called out to her, while simultaneously trying to trudge through the thick mud that laid alongside the side of the cottage. When she located her, Anne was sitting on the back porch, holding her head in her hands as this never-ending day was just about to get longer. 

“Anne? Did you hear me? I’m going to go and see if your neighbors have-”. 

“Yes, Marilla!” She unintentionally sneered out. With a pained expression, fueled by the pounding in her head and the sheer infuriating feelings of helpless, Anne met her eyes; and immediately apologized for her brief snap. 

“Ugh...I didn’t mean that Marilla”. 

Anne went to stand up, only for Marilla’s hand to press down into her shoulder, keeping her in place on the steps. Her eyes were calm, despite the growing urgency of the situation, and her hands- beings just as tired as Anne’s- rubbed soothing circles where her hair met the nape of her neck.

“Now, now. You stay here and breathe for a moment, Anne. All this stress isn't good for a young one such as yourself.” She paused momentarily, looking across the small patch of forestry, noting the dwindling amount of daylight hitting the cottage next door. 

“I’ll be back in just a jiffy, let’s see if they can help us with the door. If not, at least we have somewhere to drop our bags and rest, while hatching out what’s next. Alright?” Marilla inquired, although Anne knew she was stating what was going to happen rather than asking for her input. 

Smiling up at her, Anne nodded and watch Marilla tighten her coat before crossing over the property line of the Galloway’s. 

It was during the few minutes that Marilla was gone, that Anne started to hatch a plan herself. Slowly rising and dusting off the dried dirt of her traveling skirt, Anne started to mutter to herself, while looking around the exterior of the back of the home. 

“Come on Shirley, you are anything but a quitter”. 

Reaching along the side of the far window, Anne fought with the seal of the panel, remembering that when she had it replaced the previous fall, the wood never fit normally and could be jimmied if necessary. 

The only one being privy to this though was her, and then Gilbert. 

A snorting laugh breaks away from her then, the sound startling her from her mission briefly. 

While walking back along the side of the house in search of her hat case to stand on, the memory of how she and Gilbert discovered the flaw in the window panel played throughout her mind. 

“Oh Gil,” she laughed quietly to herself this time, remembering how they had to make a haste disposal of him when the head of her school board stopped by unexpectedly and unannounced last spring, for her so-called “surprise” end of the year report. 

Arriving back at the window, Anne could so clearly see them break apart from a rather passionate moment, and panic while looking around for a way to get him out without Mr. Smith ever knowing that he was there. The moment of his realization of what she was about to do- and his “Anne, please no”- reran, and she mentally watched him fall out the window for a second time, the window closing abruptly as she attended to the door. 

Anne was so caught up in this world, that she failed to hear Marilla’s announcement from the front of the house. 

She was halfway through the window, trying desperately to not ripe her blouse, when the door flew open with so much force, that it threw her careful balance off. 

She felt the blow of the floor before she realized what had happened. The adrenaline- she thinks that is what Gilbert called it- was flowing freely throughout her system, momentarily numbing her from the soon to be evident pain of the fall. 

Marilla and Mr....wait no _Mrs_. Galloway were standing over her, their mouths and expression’s holding panic and confusion as they gazed down at her. 

Anne was just starting to come back to herself and was earnestly trying to focus on the sounds that Marilla is forming, but all she could do was stare in shock. 

Well, that is, until she started laughing. 

“Anne?” Marilla nervously questions, not quite understanding what was happening in front of her, and or how Anne was even climbing through a window in the first place. 

As she comes back to herself, Anne briefly contemplates that must look like a fool right now, her limbs sprawled out everywhere and cackling like a run-of-the-mill antagonist. 

She also spares a thought in sympathy for the fall she made Gilbert take, as he must have landed this hard too- but maybe it was the fear that both of their reputations would have been ruined should her superior had found them alone that fueled his quick recovery and following getaway to her shed.

“Here, help me get her up”, she hears Marilla call to the other woman in the room. 

“No, no, um...oh my...I’m- fine. I’m okay”, Anne spurts out, becoming more aware and trying to sit herself up as the pain suddenly washes over her. 

Marilla tuts and ignores her, pulling her up with the aid of Mrs. Galloway and supporting her back with her knees. 

This time, Marilla’s words are loud and clear and Anne suddenly wishes to go back to mere minutes ago when she couldn't process the disappointment and agaitation flying off her lips. 

Marilla frustratedly sighed, before walking with Anne in arm over to the kitchen table. 

“Really, Anne. You are not a child anymore and yet, you...you act without caution and put yourself in heedless danger.” She looks up as Marilla paused for a second, passing her a cold cloth to apply to the back of her head. “What if you had fallen to the other side, out the window! Oh, mercy me and I can’t even bear to think-”. 

(Later on, and Anne will blame her frazzled state and even more frazzled mind for her momentary lapse of words, but at that moment, the thread had been pulled and it’s implications went slipping out without a care in the world.)

“Oh Marilla, please. I’d be fine. Gilbert did and he lived to breathe another day.” Anne huffed painfully, her thoughts turning towards the distant throbbing picking up in her hand and therefore failing to realize what she had said, and more specifically, who she had said it too. 

Anne was becoming increasingly concerned with the red tint starting to appear through her velvet glove, and further dug herself into a trap when absentmindedly responding to Marilla’s suddenly panicked revelation of what she had said. 

“I said, Gilbert was fine. If he could survive the five-foot fall out the window, then so can I. Goodness, Marilla, I am not some-”

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Galloway, I’ll ask you to take your leave now”. 

Anne was confused. “Marilla, they just helped us break into my house...we need to offer them food and...but I am out of cordial. Do you think that I could serve-”

“Anne!” Her sharp tongue matched the pointed expression she wore on her face. Showing the Galloway’s out and gently closing the now broken door, Marilla turned suddenly, her face and eyes now hidden of almost any concrete emotion. 

Anne knew this look, having been on the receiving end more times then she could care to count as a girl, yet this one was different. The exasperation was there, but there was something else, almost like the anger Marilla had initially displayed was melting away into something else entirely. 

Anne didn’t get to ponder on that notion for too long, as just as it seemed like Marilla was about to crack a grin, her face turned unexpectedly stormy- as if an unpleasant thought had entered her mind and was now spiraling out into a hurricane. 

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert!” Marilla cried as she quickly crossed the length from the doorway to the end of the kitchen. Marilla was only mere meters from her as she grabbed her shoulders- and if looks could kill, which Anne now believed they could- Marilla’s eyes had one target, and that was her. 

“Marilla! I-”, Anne tried to defend herself, although she was still unsure what she was exactly defending herself against. 

“I don’t care to hear your excuses, but I promise you Anne- if I find out that...that...boy- has been in here, alone, with you…”. Marilla suddenly pauses, taking a deep breath. 

Her hands find the edge of the table, and Anne watches how she uses it to steady herself. Anne wonders if she is counting down to ten, or perhaps even to from sixty. She has had to use it several times with a few unruly boys of her in class. When she’s particularly agitated, as Marilla seems to be now, she finds herself too counting down, in hopes of settling her nerves.

Marilla’s hand taps the table in front of her, the gesture successfully capturing her attention and Anne’s eyes find Marilla’s again.

“Anne.” 

The disappointment is laced throughout her one-syllable name. 

She seems to be in a calmer place, noticing that the initial accusations didn’t go through. “Anne, I need you to tell it to me plain. No funny business, understood?”

Anne shakes her head, not comprehending what Marilla so desperately needs from her. 

She’d try though, she would do anything that she asked for if it would get the disappointed tone out of her voice. 

“I'm sorry...I am not sure what you are asking of me, Marilla.” Anne reaches out to take the older woman's restless hand with her good one. 

“I apologize for scaring you, but I truly wasn’t planning on falling. To be honest, if you would have given me another few seconds before swinging open the door, I would have made it through.” 

Marilla shakes her head, almost like she is in disbelief of what she is hearing. 

Anne tries again. “Really, it was an accident and I-’”.

“Anne," Marilla states un-naturally plain. "Why was Gilbert Blythe in your home- seemingly unchaperoned and apparently falling out of your window?”. 

And there's a reason why redheads do not wear pink, at least in Anne’s mind, as the colour of fuchsia that tainted Anne’s freckled cheeks with the realization of Marilla’s inquiry- the nature of what she was _asking_ \- flooded her complexion, overpowering her face and senses altogether. 

Not used to being breathless for words, Anne sat there in the middle of an ever-darkening kitchen, gobsmacked that she had let the cat out of the bag. 

It was several seconds before her brain reconnected to her vocabulary and another few before she could formulate a way to put the jumbled mess together. 

“Marilla,” she started. “I promise it is not what you think," Anne stated firmly, surprisingly both of them with how level voice her sounded. Now sitting down, Marilla pulled up her chair closer to Anne’s, seemingly decided to hear what Anne had to say before casting her judgment. 

And it just all came tumbling out. 

The ‘incident’. 

The letters. 

Their plans. 

Christmas Day. 

Everything and anything that Anne had been wanting to tell Marilla- to share the blossoming details of her courtship and plans for the future with her- all came out at once and once she started talking, she was unable to stop until it was all out on the table; no card unturned and or unexplained. 

“And then, he left. Just like that! Galloping off in the falling snow like a character out of a novel. Like we hadn’t just cut the string off the bow that tied us together. You know Marilla, I only became privy to this myself a mere matter of weeks ago, but when I see my future, truly envision and plan it out step by step- it’s him I see. No matter what happens with our careers, no matter how rich or poor, him growing old, phase by phase by my side, is all I truly need”. 

Anne lets out a big sigh, letting in some much-needed air before once more holding Marilla’s gaze. 

“We found each other so late, Marilla. We were mere inches away from losing out on this indescribable love, from losing each other, and we decided that until he had finished school, and I had taught for several years, that we would wait until our hearts knew it was time.” 

“And it came?” Marilla half-heartedly asked, already knowing the answer from Anne’s early explanation. 

Anne beamed. “It came.” 

Marilla pulled her to her chest then, holding her girl close and thanking her lucky stars that fate got one thing right, even if she and John weren’t ever meant to be. Brushing down her hair and placing a small kiss on the top of her head, Marilla spoke softly. 

“I’m sorry, Anne- for the way I acted earlier. Seeing you fall and then thinking the worst of what you said about Gilbert...I- I owe you an apology. Both of you an apology. I was rash and short-tempered with you and didn’t give you a chance to explain.” Marilla held her eyes, twirling a stray curl in her fingers from the loosened mess that must have been her hair after the day they had had. 

“I know you don’t need it and have already accepted him, but Mathew and I.... we have always seen him as family and are overjoyed that you have found true happiness, my girl.”

Marilla didn’t get a chance to finish her spiel, as Anne reattached herself to her mother before the words could spill out- but the redhead already knew what she was going to say. 

It shined out of her gaze and filtered its way in in everything Marilla did. 

She was loved beyond belief, and would always she would always have her and Mathew's support no matter what.

Anne held onto that feeling and prayed in bed that night that when the time came, she would be married with both Marilla and Mathew around to give her away. 

They were the first, yet certainly not only, to love her and Anne would always hold her parents close; a special section of her massive and braveheart set aside just for them.

Clutching her hands together, although being mindful of the one she had just wrapped, Anne whispered out a small prayer. 

“Dear Lord,

I know I have cursed you several times today, but I apologize. 

Today was a lesson I think I was way overdue for, and I thank you for sharing it with me, even though your methods at times were a bit questionable. 

I ask of you only two things tonight and will be ever so grateful if you held onto them for me. 

First, please keep Mathew and Marilla in good health. They are two of the most important people in my life and I will be forever torn apart without them. I have also just promised Marilla, and therefore, Mathew, that they will have the honour in delivering me to my beloved. I plan on sharing my life with them, and that means keeping them safe and healthy in order to join me in this new stage. 

Second, I ask you to watch over and bring peace to Gilbert. He is due to be arriving back into Toronto today, and I trust and thank you for keeping him safe along the way. 

If I may be so selfish, could I implore to ask for a third thing? I’m hoping with the events of today that you might be open to one more inquiry, and if not, then I will revisit this with you tomorrow when the time comes. 

Thirdly, then- I ask that you bless us, Lord. Gilbert and I, of course. We are still so young, and naive and I can be hot-headed sometimes- okay, most of the time- and I pray that you provide us with guidance and strength all throughout our lives. People get angry, and fight and disagree, and I am not saying to let us be immune, but stand by us as we work through the hard times. Stand by us Lord, as we trust you wholeheartedly. 

You brought me here. To Green Gables, to Avonlea, to Mathew, Marilla, Diana, and Cole... You found my parents and stood by me in some of the darkest moments. You found me my soul mate, the missing piece of the puzzle in Gilbert and I am forever thankful. 

I guess I am just asking for you to stay with me, Lord. 

Forever in your favour, 

Anne...with an E”. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is chapter 2! 
> 
> This was honestly so fun to write. I mean, that visual of Anne shoving Gilbert quite literally out a window in order to save both of their asses? Priceless. 
> 
> Chapter Three should be coming shortly, I'm just finishing up the last of my edits. :)


	3. Chapter 3

It was Sunday, and though Anne tried to appreciate all the different days of the week and what each one could bring, she was certain that this one- _meant for you and only God, Anne_ \- was by far her least favourite of them all. 

She had never understood the relationship that the Church and this particular day shared and couldn’t quite frankly care less for dressing herself up at the end of each week, standing side by side with people she only mingled with out of politeness, and have misogynist man tell her what to do and how to pray. 

Anne much rathered to keep her correspondences with the Lord private; as she firmly believed that her thoughts, and worries, and even occasional desires were hers and hers alone to share. 

She had been further pondering the notions and societal construction of the ever so important religious gathering when Marilla had come in and had missed no opportunity to give her some lip in regards to her current situation.

Speaking of her mother, Marilla had just left for the station- catching a ride into town with Mr. Galloway- and Anne was supposed to be getting dressed, having had promised to be on her way out the door within mere minutes of their departure. 

She had slept in this morning, not a crime by any means- in her book at least- but her ‘lie-in’ had nevertheless put a rut in her already carefully planned day. She was supposed to be accompanying Marilla to the station and then joining her neighbors at church, yet as soon as Anne awoke this morning, her stomach had been churning and her head pounding. 

Once Marilla had realized the cause of her so-called tardiness, she had allowed Anne to drift back off for another hour's sleep. With the first day of school starting back up tomorrow, there was so much to be done and Anne was grateful that her mother had been favourable to her pleas.

Even so, she had seen them off. Marilla planted a kiss on her head and both of them marked up her sudden swing towards unwellness to the adventurous few days they had had. Anne had only curled up back in bed for a moment, having needed to rest eyes for a few more minutes, and surely, another little doze to regather the rest of her strength wouldn’t hurt?

Except- her quick ‘cat nap’ had turned into at least another four hours of sleep.

By the time Anne had reawoken, church had to long since have started and finished, if the sun that high in the sky was accurately representing that it was sometime around midday. 

Moving her legs a bit, Anne kept her eyes closed, but attempted to wake up her body from the frozen-like exhaustion. She wiggled her toes, then shook her knees, and finally started to move her arms. With the latter, a sudden and strangled hiss of pain emerged from the back of her throat unexpectedly. 

Cracking an eye open, Anne allowed it to get better adjusted to the change in intensity since she had last been awake. Once she could focus properly, her gaze drifted downwards, honing in on the cause of all the fuss over the last few days.

Under the carefully wrapped- and actually needing to be changed dressing- lied a rather sizable gash to Anne’s left hand. What started out as a throbbing sensation after her ‘rendezvous’ with the window on Friday night, in which she had assumed she had just merely scrapped it during her descent to the floor, had developed into a ravenous burning, whose embers kept flaring despite how much Anne had rinsed and tended it. After a closer inspection, long after Marilla had retired for the night, she discovered the cut- small yet surprisingly deep. 

Her best guess towards what happened is that she must have cut her palm on something embedded in the windowsill, and the burning of the wound certainly supported that theory. She had been tending to it, cleaning it out with water and some light soap, as well as keeping the dressings clean, but despite all of her best efforts, the site only seemed to become angrier as the days went on. 

She hadn’t wanted to frighten Marilla, much rather preferring to spend the only time she had with her until next Spring in good spirits and enjoying each other's company. 

And there was nothing truly wrong, she was _sure_ of it. 

She had taken all of the precautions that Gilbert had taught her, and especially with the memories of Mary’s passings, Anne was diligent in keeping things as sterile as possible. She had come by much worse in her young twenty-three years and was certainly not going to let a stupid, little scrap ruin her weekend- much less her current day. 

Hissing once again as she forced her body up, Anne felt every bone and muscle cry out; begging her to once again seek solace in the warmth of her bed. 

‘ _Up and at em’, Shirley_ ’, she mused as she fought against the building stiffness in her limbs. 

Once up, although still shaky, Anne worked her way to the kitchen, in seek of tea and some form of sustenance. Thankfully, she and Marilla had managed to get some basic supplies at the store, enough that she could survive on the basics until her little town was back up and running after the holidays. Out of her rations, as Marilla called them, she had made Anne a plate and claimed it was left warming in the oven. 

Wanting to further investigate that theory, Anne took careful steps over to her stove. She found- to her relief- the promised eggs and few slices of toast that had been left in her name. 

She sat at the table, picking at and occasionally taking a small bite of the semi-warm breakfast that she had been left. Once a while she would let out a groan, stretch out her back and clawing out her hands, trying to return some feelings to the tiring digits. With only a few nibbles taken out of the toast, and her previous hunger starting to fade away in nausea, Anne was much more preoccupied with planning her lessons for tomorrow. 

The sun rays gave away to a soft, golden cover illuminating her kitchen, and Anne- despite the frigid temperatures outside and the ever-chilling air of her kitchen- started to sweat. 

Rolling her neck, trying to ease out all of the tension, she hissed once again with the spasm that flooded into her back. 

“Oh, this is just perfect!” She groaned, straining her right hand back, attempting to massage out the vicious cramp that has just started. She managed to soothe it enough to regain some movement of her shoulders, but with the energy she had just exerted, Anne was feeling rather exhausted. 

‘ _How is it only a quarter past four?_ ’ Anne wondered as she pushed away her finished plans and glanced at the clock. Gathering her belongings, she moved to stand up only for her legs to give out and to land rather forcibly back against the wood of the chair. 

She momentarily cursed. “Can’t a girl get a break?” She asked, looking upwards at the one who seemed to be throwing her bone after bone. Anne sat there for a few more moments, collecting her wits and then tried again. 

This time, the connection between her brain and legs seemed to have re-fused and Anne was able to make her way over to the windows. It had become so _unbearably_ hot in her cottage, her face and body breaking out into a heated, speckled rash with the rising temperature, so one by one, she opened all of them up, letting cool, wintery air fill her home. 

The sweat that was dripping down her nose, started to evaporate with the sudden change in temperature, and Anne found herself shivering just as soon as she had begun sweating. 

Sighing loudly and reaching for her duvet, “Oh, this is ridiculous!” 

Grabbing her the blanket that had come down the stairs with her this morning (more like afternoon), Anne carefully wrapped it around her shoulders and called it a day. After making her way back up the stairs, in a rather ungraceful manner, Anne curled back into her bed, kicking her covers off in the process. 

However, despite the signals her body was giving for her to give away back sleep, Anne’s mind still ran rapid. Wanting to still be productive, yet having very little energy left to offer, she decides to pen a quick letter to Gilbert, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t let him know of her safe, yet tedious arrival back to her home in Greenwich. 

Pulling out her pen and a few sheets of paper from her bedside table, Anne struggles with her injured hand to pull up the writing tray that Bash had made for her over Christmas; specifically designed for the late nights penning away, however, she could now do it from the comfort of her bed. 

Giving up using it, she places the previous retrieved items alongside her and reaches over with her right hand in order to grab the tray and place it on her lap.

And for the first time today, the diminishing light in her eyes returns when writing out her letter to him. No matter the day she had and or the struggles she was facing, Gilbert was always able to cheer her up; even when located over 1500 kilometres and in another province. She made haste in apologizing for the delay in her corresponde and hoped that his own journey back to the city had been pleasant enough. Anne updates him on the “no good, very bad day” that Friday was, as well as letting him know that Marilla now _knows_. 

‘ _And Gilbert, I truly did not mean that tell her without you. I know we had talked about it and wanted to let both of our families know together._

_...But, I guess Marilla counts as a member of your family already, as I certainly see Bash, Dear Dellie, and Hazel as mine._

_She was so happy for us, Gil._

_(Well, at least once I explained why I knew that fall I took wasn’t one for worrying over, due to your previous experience with the window.)_ ’

Anne smiled to herself as she spellchecked and reread over her prose. 

_‘I won’t keep you any longer, as I would much rather share this and all it’s details with you when you next visit. The beginning of February, correct?_

_Oh, Gilbert. I cannot think of the words to describe how much I love you and miss you right now, but please note that it is more than the sun and the moon combined._

_Our time at Christmas…_

_Well, is one that I hold so dear to my heart. I replay it over and over again in my mind, and it helps numb the pain in my heart of being separated from you again. I'll have my answer for you soon, but I will be holding onto it until you are able to make it here; call it my own insurance plan, if you will, that I will get to bask in your love and your arms once more._

_Always remember, my love, that you are so capable and are the most intelligent, kind-hearted, and beautiful person I know. I am so proud to know you, and even more so to get to call you “mine”._

_Until next time,_

_(Which will be sooner than later!)_

_Your, Anne._

_(P.S - I am also out of honey, and currently don’t have any means where to find it... what would you recommend instead for cleansing a wound? Nothing to worry about, only a small scrape I seem to have picked up in my rendezvous with the window. Perhaps some diluted alcohol? I’m out of hydrogen peroxide so I’ll have to ask Mr. Galloway tomorrow for some of his whiskey ration if I can’t get this hand to behave.)_

_(P.S.S - I love you.)_

_(P.S.S.S - A lot.)’_

_._

_._

_._

The next time Anne opened her eyes, the world was dark and spinning and there was someone talking to her, although she couldn’t place the voice to anyone she knew. 

She could pick up a few words and or small phrases, but they were so scattered that it all sounded jumbled, like static forming with each wave that entered her ears. 

The voice- no... _voices_ \- were picking up once more and the more coherent Anne became, the clearer the syllables were:

_‘I’ve sent…,’_

_‘Yes ...the window’s...,’_

_‘...but the doctor…he can’t-’_

“Oh, mercy me...!” Shrieked a high pitch voice. 

She tried to turn towards the concerned sound, but instead found her body and limbs as heavy as rocks. She could still hear the panic in the one voice, as was becoming increasingly worried for this person who had apparently suffered a great freight. 

From what Anne could deduce, from being in this weird state, is that something had just happened, and she had half a mind to ask what was going on. However, the words echoed silently in her chest. Anne wasn’t sure if anyone was even near her, or was this another one of those nights terrors...the ones that pinned her limbs down and made her relive her worst fears. 

She would often shake and scream during those, well, at least that’s what she had been told by the faces in the orphanage, and then again by both Mathew and Marilla.

With their two aged, but warm faces popping up in her mind, Anne began to wonder if something was wrong outside… ‘ _Oh lord, not another fire!_ ’

Panic flooded through her fiery vines, washing away the burning that had been building up since she had woken up. The lead that weighed her down, was suddenly lifted, and Anne felt her limbs come alive. 

However, the flames were holding her down. And despite how hard she tried and all the might she put forth, they were hissing, and _shhing_ , and taunting her as they took her alive. 

A scream erupted from her throat, as she fought against the fire that must have been started in the barn, and began to consume the Gable. 

“No, please! Mathew...help!” She wailed desperately. Anne kicked and thrashed trying to get away, fighting and crying out until suddenly, her body went weightless. 

The fire was fading, the burning leaving her skin and Anne wondered if that was it...if she had really perished in the flames. 

Her body was getting heavier again though, so perhaps not? She tried to call out, ask what was happening and what had _happened_. The biggest question on her mind was if Mathew and Marilla had made it out okay, yet she received no response.

_‘Lord,’_ she called, _‘Are you with me?’_

But, she didn’t have a chance to figure out if the muffled humming sound that she had just _barely_ picked up was her almighty or not. Marilla had once told her that God speaks clearly and that she would know when he was reaching out to her…

‘ _Maybe this isn’t heaven_ ,’ Anne pondered as she felt herself slip, further and further away. 

With the last bits of strength she had, Anne sent out one final question out into the universe that seemed so bent on dragging under, back into the darkness of the earth: 

  
_‘How have I ended up here, Lord...is this Hell?_ ’

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> That happened. 
> 
> Please don't hate me!! I have been (hopefully!) setting the scene along the way for the direction we are taking...and we have arrived on that downstep now. 
> 
> Chapter 4 is a work in progress- I decided to add another one in with a few new ideas swirling around my head. I am currently re-working my chapter plan, but it will certainly be out within the week! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Connected as always, Gilbert was wondering the same question. 

‘ _Is this my punishment? For being so daft for so long?_ ’ he bewilderedly asked to anyone listening above. 

The wind at that moment hit the window, the force throwing the panes open so violently- so deliberately- allowing the dangerous winter air to come flooding in. Leaving his perch, Gilbert stood and quickly refastened the glass back together, effectively silencing whatever and whoever sent their non-verbal reply. 

There was something though about how the snow, and icy pellets it held within its grasp, drew him in. If Gilbert was more inclined to believe in the supernatural world, he would have wondered if the pattern that the crystals were making as they tumbled throughout the sky, was reaching out to him, inviting him closer. 

Placing a hand against the glass, momentarily marveling at the sharp contrast in temperature it held, Gilbert allowed himself a moment. 

Letting his tired eyes close, the young man- who at this moment resembled more of a frightened and desperate boy- took a breath, inhaling deeply and exhaling with just as much force. 

It had been five days since he arrived; five days since the sky rearranged its stars. 

It had been five, tremulous and earth-shattering days since Gilbert opened the door into An-, _her_ home, and he had been running on empty ever since. 

And as much as he begs, no _pleas_ , with his brain to wash away those early moments of crossing the threshold, the _howling_ of her family running over and over again echoes off the cavity where his heart used to be. 

Gilbert doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to douse the image of Marilla’s sobbing at the kitchen table, shoulders shaking as the country doctor delivered his verdict, from his eyes.

Of walking into a world where the judge’s gavel had at last fallen, effectively crushing his heart with one final blow. 

He didn't understand how he was just expected to accept- how he is supposed to even fathom about living in a world where she no longer was. 

And the anger that exploded out his chest was raw, his biggest fear and weakness being exposed with the physician's ruling. 

He remembers storming into the dwelling, grabbing the man by the lapels and demanding that he took his blasphemy back. 

He remembers the rage that covered his eyes as he took in Marilla’s startled and absolutely devastated face. 

He remembers the accusations he spit towards both parties, hounding them on how they could say such degrading things about her. 

Gilbert so clearly remembers the moment where his fellow physician gripped his shoulder, grounding him back to earth, offering him a sympathetic and understanding look. 

“I’m so sorry, son”. Those four words both froze and simultaneously reheated Gilbert’s bloodstream, sending his system into a muddled shock. 

Well, that is until the desperation washed over as if he was suddenly thrown into an ice bath. 

And since that day, he thinks it was Wednesday or the one that came after it, Gilbert had stayed vigilant at his post, where he belonged, never leaving her side. 

Turning back around, his gaze fell upon his love. 

Even covered in sweat, her hair sticking out all over the pillows, and paler then he had ever seen her; Anne’s beauty had never failed to take his breath away. 

Even in this nightmare, his own personal hell, where he was resigned to watch the woman he loved fade with every second, she somehow radiated this essence; calming him in even the most dreadful and agitated of moments. 

He crossed the short distance back towards her bed, giving her another once over, ensuring nothing had changed in his few moments away, before moving to resume his previous task. Satisfied- as much as he could be with the current predicament- Gilbert reached for the bowl of water. Ringing out the cloth, intended to keep her temperature level, Gilbert noticed the state of the said water and called for reinforcements. 

“Marilla,” he inquired downstairs, though mindful to keep his voice free of unnecessary worry, “Could you come up here for a second?” 

Within seconds, the gray hair women appeared, out of breath and her concerned eyes immediately flying to Anne’s bed as soon as she entered the room. 

He watched her steady herself then, taking in and then letting a calming breath at her realization that nothing had changed. At the same time, he recognized that it wasn’t just relief that passed over her normally composed face, but rather, Gilbert detected the minuscule amounts of disappointment that also lied beneath the surface. 

He too shared her sentiment, as terrible as it might sound, as with every time Anne showed a sign, any sign that she was still there, still fighting, this feeling of just _maybe_...that maybe a miracle was among the cards would overwhelm him. 

However, the relief of knowing that she was if not better, at least not in rapid decline, always outweighed any feelings of resentment of their current situation. 

Marilla moved her eyes back towards him then, letting them linger on his tired and weary face. 

She asked plainly, yet kind, “No change?” 

All he could offer was a small nod, not having the energy to muster up a false smile. 

Gilbert was about to ask if she could retrieve another clean basin of water, but before the words could even form in his mouth, Marilla was picking up the discarded one off of the floor. Balancing the bowl of her hip, Gilbert watched as she kissed her fingers briefly, before laying her hand on Anne’s exposed arm. 

“I’ll be back in a moment, keep an eye on her?” Marilla asked, already knowing the answer. 

As she left, she placed the same hand that had delivered the feather-light kiss to her daughter onto his shoulder, transferring the sentiment to him. Gilbert smiled at her then, a genuine grin breaking out across his face for the first time in days. 

“Always,” He replied earnestly, holding her gentle eyes. 

With a final pat, Marilla walked out the door and Gilbert counted her steps as she made her way back down the stairs. 

Sighing softly, he marveled in the quiet yet determined resilience that Marilla demonstrated, standing strong even with her entire world hanging in the balance. Anne carried that same spirit, firey and headstrong, but ever so gentle and reassuring in the nature of perils. 

Without even realizing it, Gilbert had reached for Anne’s hand then, the magnetics of their connection pulling him back in. 

This deep-seated connection that they shared, like atoms crashing together and sharing their energy, was one that erupted the moment his hazel eyes had met her blue counterparts. It was that hold that she had on him, and vice versa, that kept Gilbert’s heart beating, safely inside her chest. 

Running his digits over the bony structure of her left hand, and being incredibly careful of where it was tightly gauzed, he traced her knuckles, over and over again, until lightly bringing it up to his lips, placing an ever so light kiss. 

The action brought him back to another time, seemingly now in another world...in another lifetime ago. 

Her hands hadn’t been this cold though then, even in the frigid December temperatures that were only further excelled with the little to no insulation left in the barn. There had been a ring on her finger then, one that he had placed there a matter of mere weeks ago. 

This wasn’t a surprising revelation though, as Anne had promised him a future- just not now. 

It seems silly though, with the events that had unfolded so quickly that they had wanted to wait, to hide it for as long as possible. Of course, Gilbert understood why and was an equal participant in the agreement, but materialistic things such as jobs and reputations paled in comparison now. 

Gilbert was about to open her bedside table drawer, now curious to where Anne had placed his mother’s ring; however, Marilla returned at just at that moment and he was pulled away from his previous train of thought. 

Reaching out towards the refilled basin, Gilbert moved to take the bowl from Marilla, only to have the woman tighten her grip and smile. 

“Now, now,'' she tutted motherly, “You have been cooped up in this room for far too long.” 

Gilbert went to interrupt, something he usually was not in the habit of doing, only to have Marilla hold her free hand up, effectively silencing him. 

She motioned towards the current state of deshevishedness he was in, “I won’t hear a word. Mrs. Galloway has so kindly made another batch of stew and there is already a bowl waiting at the table for you.” She paused for a second, sparing a loving glance at Anne, before returning to hold his eyes. “You are no use to her if you continue to run yourself dry, Gilbert. She would be positively upset to know what has become of you.” Marilla said softly.

Gilbert broke away from her eyes then, sneaking his own peek at his love’s mellow face. He wasn’t sure: 

‘ _What if she awakes again, another fitting spell taking hold of her?_ ’ Gilbert pondered, chewing lightly on his bottom lip. She has already had four in the span of time since he arrived and Gilbert was hoping that all the steps they had taken to keep her comfortable would be enough to keep them at bay. 

The torn-ness must have been painted all over his face, as Marilla stepped forward at that moment and took his hand. Giving it a light squeeze, she answered the question that he had been grueling over in his mind. 

“Should anything change, even the smallest twitch of movement, you know I will call.”

He paid her a grateful glance, quite thankful for the motherly guidance and reason that he had been without for so long. 

Switching places with Marilla and placing the basin at her feet, he turned to Anne once again. 

He kneeled beside her, something he’d do when he wanted just to be closer and kissed her hand. Holding it for a few more seconds and once again, running his fingers over the fantom ring, he pulled himself back up and leaned down to her ear. 

Placing a kiss just underside the lobe, Gilbert whispered a promise to her. 

“I’m just downstairs my love, Marilla’s with you.” He paused suddenly, his voice becoming thicker. 

“Don’t you go anywhere I can’t follow, my Anne, I’ll be back as soon as possible”. 

. 

. 

.

Later that evening, Gilbert had curled up in the chair closest to the bed and was penning a letter to Sebastian, updating him on Anne’s health. He had had a lovely supper, some sleep- much to Marilla’s delight- and finally was sitting back with his beloved, giving Mrs. Galloway a chance to return home to her own children for the night. 

And as much as it pained him to, Marilla was right. 

The circles under all of their eyes were dark and inky, yet Gilbert’s had turned sunken over the last few days; as if he was fading alongside Anne. Up until the bowl of broth, he couldn’t remember the last time he had truly eaten; at least more than a few slices of buttered bread. He didn’t mind though, as Gilbert would trade the rations he had scarfed down when he could no longer ignore his stomach over missing any more moments with her. Time was passing by too fast, refusing to slow no matter how much he prayed. 

Speaking of which, Anne had just fallen back asleep, having been semi-coherent enough to sip down some water and broth to all of their satisfaction. Gilbert had been tempted to bring his own bowl up, but Marilla would not hear of it, and gently yet firmly having chided him into letting her rest without being _distracted_ by him. 

Well…’distracted’ was one way to put it. 

Ever since Gilbert had turned up on Anne’s doorstep after Marilla’s urgent telegram, the redhead had had several episodes- different from the spasming- in which she would see and hear Gilbert when he _wasn’t_ truly there. 

At first, it started as mumbling, his name spilling out sleepy and incoherently amongst the jumble of other phrases. Gilbert would take her hand then, carefully bring the digits to his lips and planting kisses along them, letting her know that he was here...that he was waiting for her.

However, as her fever became more tempered and the infection refused to relent, Anne’s whispers turned out into pleas. She would call out into him in the middle of the night, being seemingly asleep and resting one moment, to awake and distressed in another. 

The worst of them all though was the spells she would fall into after another spasm, where her body was too exhausted to fight off her mind. Anne would be transported back to somewhere in time, or other into a seemingly new scene; one where terror and panic would fill her tired voice, clawing out desperately with the remaining energy she still had left. 

In these moments, Gilbert would pull her hand to his chest, pressing it against his heart, letting its own terror-filled beats somehow soothe her. 

His heart’s thumping, chanting out _“Anne’, ‘Anne’, ‘Anne’_ , rhythmically all in a row, was all that he and the siblings had been able to succeed within calming her and bringing her back from a world in which plagued not only her nightmares but her false reality too. 

Watching her flail and then experiencing her worst fears, all while being helpless, was excruciating for Gilbert; and would he be damned if he was going to let the rules of propriety in those desperate moments dictate how he should and shouldn’t conduct himself. 

The number of moments he had left with her...were heartbreakingly few and he was ever so thankful to both Marilla and Mathew for allowing him to drink her in honestly and love her openly, to take his time in processing how to say good-

He was with her now though, his (her) pen in hand and just being with her as he finished up his note. 

He snuck a peek up at her, smiling as she seemed to let out a content sigh before letting her eyebrows and face relax once more. Gilbert turned back to the task hand, wanting to be rid of the informative...but oh so devastating correspondence that was set to go out first thing tomorrow morning with the morning post. Sebastian was in Charlottetown, or at least should be by now. 

‘ _It’s half-past seven_ ’, Gilbert hummed quietly, noting the time and if fate had allowed, his brother had found someone to care for Delphine. 

From what he had heard from Marilla, who had in turn received word from Mrs. Lynde, Bash had been in Charlottetown a few days ago visiting family with his niece, only to return home to Avonlea and found Gilbert’s own distressing note from Toronto snuck neat and tidy into the door. 

Mrs. Lynde herself was on her way towards Greenwich, coming to provide some much needed support for the siblings, although was unclear in her short reply to Marilla on whether Sebastian would be making the journey with her.

Placing the address into one of Anne’s own hand-embellished envelopes, Gilbert sealed up the paper, before placing it dejectedly into his own pocket. 

And for something so paper-thin, Gilbert was forced to marvel for a moment on how the sealing of Anne’s fate sunk like embering coal in his trousers pocket, the words it held effectively burning his skin as it sat there, only further reminding him of his failure. 

He swallows deeply then, forcing the bile that emerges with that thought back down his throat, unable to allow himself to his own shame and wallowing when his love has been so strong and fighting so bravely.

Dragging the wooden chair even closer to her bed and needing to somehow be closer to her, Gilbert reached to connect their palms once more, being mindful of the wounded hand to her left. 

It was here that he just allowed himself to breathe, to soak in her own timid and laboured ones and be surrounded by everything that was _Anne_. 

The intrusive thought pops into his head then, the assault of the notion of if God was so hell-bent on breaking him, on watching him wither away- that it would be a beautiful way to go- wrapped up in her and drinking in the last of her essence before whoever manned the pearly gates dragged him up. 

Although, they wouldn’t have to force him to climb that ladder. It wouldn’t be a painful affair, like the time Gilbert had slammed the door that had effectively ripped out Bash’s infected tooth. Or, when he had fallen out of one of the many apple trees on his property, his father splinting up his suspected (and then confirmed) broken arm.

No. 

Surely the Lord wasn’t going to force him to continue without his heart, as despite all of the research and patients he treated, not one, single individual had been able to carry on without its rhythmic beat. 

So even in this little hell, where Anne slipped further and further through his grasping fingers, there was a small part of Gilbert that was content; knowing that fate would too collect him; as wherever she was, he would follow.

.

.

.

It must be early in the morning, the sheer ink-toned hue of the sky hinting that it was around some time in the early hours of the day. 

Gilbert is disoriented when he awakes, unable to focus on anything with the blackness of the room. That changes, however, within a few moments of returning back to consciousness, as with Gilbert’s back starting to ache, enlightening him of his current, hunched over predicament in Anne’s wooden chair, her name echoes through his mind so violently, the surge of fear rippling throughout his body and mind once more. 

“Anne?” Gilbert called out then, reaching out for her in the slowly brightening room.

He finds her hands first, and that alone is enough to disengage the engine of his suddenly pounding heart. 

The clarity of her face comes next, and with reassuring himself that she’s (still) here and breathing and _alive_ , Gilbert is able to let out the gulp of air he hadn’t even realized he was holding. 

He moves then to stretch out his back, the sharp pains returning as the panic begins to fade away from his mind. 

“Anne!”

Gilbert whipped his head around, and there in the corner of the room, looking incredibly uncomfortable against the where the corners of the wall met, lied Mathew Cuthbert; seemingly as disorientated as he was only moments ago. 

Taking another deep and calming breath, and simultaneously shaking off his own startledness with Mathew’s apparent presence in the room and equally distressed call, Gilbert moved to reassure the man, whose own mind must be swirling with a similar concern for the girl. 

But, before the words of reassurance could even form on his lips, Mathew was staggering his way up from his perch, moving slowly yet purposely towards the bed. 

He too let out a relieved sign, allowing a few seconds to pass, physically and mentally making a checklist of any changes in Anne’s health. He gazed at his daughter with so much love yet fear in his eyes, patting her hand before moving to hold Gilbert’s own relieved filled orbs. 

Mathew went to address him, however, he stopped just before his question slipped out. Gilbert watched as he rang out his hands and took another steading breath, before starting again. 

“What hap- is she...still...okay, Gilbert?” Mathew struggled to get out, his own hickory voice shaking with raw vulnerability with the scope of his inquiry. 

Gilbert's own throat tightened with his response, “For now, Mathew. I’m sorry if I scared you, I myself had awoken and didn’t know…”. 

Gilbert reached for her hand once again then, the mere thought of having been sleeping in the first place and now coupled with the realization that she so easily could have- 

And suddenly, without his permission and or knowledge, tears were running down Gilbert Blythe’s face. 

The combination of his sleep-deprived state and the jarring realization that he very much could have awoken to have found his sweet, sweet Anne having already departed certainly was a major participant in sparking his current breaking of sobs. 

But most of all, it was the sheer anger with his inability to do something, _anything_ to save her, that bubbled up at that moment, and with Mathew’s own panic lacing in with his own, the waves crashed into Gilbert and he was no longer able to swim within them. 

He had thought watching his Dad slip away was excruciating. 

Then came the loss of Mary; his sister in every, single way except biological, who faded away in front of him… the life-saving nectar only mere meters underneath his nose the entire time. 

He had seen so much loss and carried so much pain in his short few years as a medical practitioner, the deliverance of death sentence being the one part of his job that he could go without, yet still chose to carry on through all the lost in sight of the greater good.

He truly would call himself an optimist, seeing the good- no matter how small- in almost any situation that fate had dealt him over the years. 

But this? 

This was unfiltered, unendurable pain.

This was the dam breaking.

This was his heart bleeding out in time with the ever-fading beats of her’s.

His best friend. 

This was his fiancee. 

His soulmate. 

His _Anne_. 

Gilbert found himself in that moment, where for the third time in his life, he was watching somebody he loved, slip away.

And he could do absolutely nothing about it. 

(Although, this isn’t to say he hadn’t tried. )

Upon arriving, he soaked her clammy and speckled hand in honey. 

He dozed the discolored and dead tissue in alcohol; praying with every fiber in his being that God would take him instead.

Right up until this moment, he had been holding onto the prayer that Anne would somehow make it out of this alive if he could just fix her. Gilbert rinsed, and guazed, and cleansed, and cooled, and exhausted every option, even pondering the most gruesome of them all- until he had nothing else left to try. 

And with the realization, Gilbert sobbed. 

Mathew lets him cry. 

Mathew lets him curl up into his arms, desperately seeking comfort and guidance and love. 

Mathew assures Marilla’s panicked presence in the room moments later, her attention turning from the resting girl to the ever so shattered boy. 

They let him grieve and mourn and cry for all of those he had, and were soon to lose. 

They let him curl up into bed with her, allowing her to hold her and protect her. 

And Gilbert does just that until the simmering bits of dawn are just starting to crack through the ink of the sky.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one! My school life has been hectic and I have only just had a chance to get to posting this now. :) 
> 
> *Also - not sure what's happened to my other chapter notes...as on my end they are showing up but for a friend of mine..they are not. Are you able to see them? It might be my computer and it just throwing a fuss...but please let me know!*


	5. Chapter 5

The sky had always been a keeper of secrets for Anne; its sheer expansive nature was one so magnificent that she couldn’t help but let herself be drawn in.

In moments of joy, although more so in those that held fear and sorrow, she was known to have spared a knowing glance up above, penning in a quick note with the almighty who controlled the moves on the board. 

The answers were never clear though, only vague clues that had been swept away as if the Lord’s ink bottle had tipped over whilst he was pondering a reply. However, this was if she received anything at all, as more than ever, Anne was met with silence; her correspondence seemingly getting lost in the multitude of post being sent up to the sky.

‘ _I suppose it is quite easy to get lost up there though_ ’, she mused as the smallest cracks of light began to pour into the darkness. 

The early snippets of the rising sun were peaking through with the scheduled arrival of dawn, and as Anne laid there in the meadow, she took in the ever-stunning beauty of Mother Earth’s pastel artwork. Between her view and the lushness of the grass beneath her, Anne was tempted to drift back off- back to where she could paint her own sky with all the colours that took root in those she loved. 

She had particularly been enjoying the vibrancy of gold, the hue of honey twinkling with a secret that it could not yet share, when the meadow shifted, her balance against the earth tipping sideways. 

Anne threw her hand out beside her, trying to hold on as the sudden earthquake seemed to rock the world away, but the action did little as the grass disappeared and subsequently her grip on the weeds faded with it.

With her eyes still open, she took in the sky. The colours hadn’t changed, the pastel purples and pinks were still slowly creeping their way into the ink. The only difference of this new ‘stage’ she seemed to have stumbled- well, more like fallen into- was that her body was pressed into something firm and warm; as if she had rolled closer to the sun. 

Moving her gaze sideways, Anne was struck with more blackness, yet it held none of the colour that she had just previously been gazing upon. Her eyes trailed further along the depth, focusing on her writing desk, tucked away in the corner of the vast space. 

But that didn’t make sense. 

Anne honed in her eyes, the desk was indeed here, all of her previously finished lesson plans almost glowing with the increasing amount of daylight starting to filter in. The chair was gone though, and with further investigation, she found that her other belongings also were present in this alternate world. 

Confused, and almost dazed, Anne moved to start pulling her body up, wanting a clear view of this mystery, however, her body refused to cooperate and her weak attempt at moving her limbs left the surface below her _groaning_. 

And what she found as she turned towards the verbal protest...well...Anne for sure knew that she was far away from reality now. 

Lying beside her, in her bed nonetheless, was _him_. 

If Anne’s brain would’ve been able to send the appropriate signal to connect to her mouth, perhaps she would have yelped out of shock. But she was absolutely left gobsmacked as the figure of her imagination had suddenly manifested beside her out of thin air- her words stolen out of her mouth before they even have a chance to form. 

Gone was the meadow of dreams, where no pain and heartbreak could reach her. Instead, she was left in this dark, confusing abyss, where the cold threatened to creep back into her veins, simultaneously looking to start a dance with the flames that had once engulfed her.

However, all of the anguish that was threatening to drown her was swept away with one glance at his almost _ethereal_ face, as if the waves that looked to pull her back in graciously decidedly to give her one moment of peace before getting equal once more. 

And like always, he grounded her. 

This “Gilbert” before her, sleeping so peacefully away, somehow reeled her in, keeping her captive unconsciously to wherever he was. It was something Anne had always marvelled at, his ability to capture anyone and everyone's attention in whatever room he was in. Gilbert had this aura about him, similar to that of the sun, and even when the green, little monster of jealousy would pop up on Anne’s shoulder while they were out and about, enjoying afternoon only to have other’s be unintentionally drawn to him (although there were some ladies she would like to argue who knew exactly what they were doing); she couldn’t help but understand, having too been drawn into the magnetic light he gave off.

Maybe that is why she felt so deeply connected to the flowers and plants she so heavenly adored- perhaps they were also kindred in the way that they both needed the light the sun delivered in order to survive. 

Anne continued to watch him, testing this sprite-like concoction her mind had conjured up for similarities between who it mirrored. 

The rosebuds that he adorned were a very specific shape, ones that were so deeply ingrained in her memory with how much time she had spent studying them with her fingers, and then, of course, her own lips. 

The freckles along his cheeks also matched, her mind apparently remembering to add the one that was hidden just under the lobe of his right ear- the one that was a favourite of hers to peck when Anne would find herself curled up against his side, head buried in his hair. 

Speaking of which, it too passed her test. The colour of his raven locks was one she hadn’t come across before- not even Diana’s own dark length could compare to the pigment of Gilberts- and the ever-increasingly light in this world was only further highlighting its uniqueness. 

Then there was the specific curl of his hair, one that could wrap around her fingers like ribbons when she would run her hands through it. 

Anne had to resist to reach out then, fighting the sudden urge to run her fingers through the locks, wanting to settle her pounding heart that was beginning to scream ‘ _what if_ ’-

_‘No’_ , she rationalized. There was no way the Gilbert Blythe was here with her. 

No. 

He was safely tucked away in his Yonge Street flat, most likely curled up in a similar way as he slept peacefully through the night. Anne would too soon awake for school, leaving this dream world behind as the realities of the harsh first-day back after winter break would set in.

Still captivated by the nymph, Anne started to relax back into the warmth that surrounded her. If the sky was anything to go off of, she had another half of an hour or so until she would have to arise, leaving this beautiful world behind. 

This being was so real, _too real_ , and with its actual and original counterpart being so far away from her, Anne took comfort in its strangely accurate features, letting her tired body curl up just millimeters away, basking in the warmth it provided. 

At that moment though, her body protested at the position she had put herself in, her muscles crying out as if it had been weeks since she had last moved them. Her hamstring tightened sharply, the pain flooding her leg violently and in response, the muscle began to shake. 

Anne hisses as the spasm spreads further down her leg, desperately trying to work out the cramp before her the boy her mind had conjured up disappeared. However, without the necessary elasticity of her body being able to cooperate, it more looks like Anne is starting to twitch-

And boy, does that get a response. 

The Gilbert springs right up then, the fear he holds within his sleepy eyes makes her shiver, the warmth of the sun fading quickly away as the nymph took another form. He just stares at her, seemingly not able to comprehend what he is seeing before him, as if he was pulled from another world, one where she could never be privy to. 

He’s mumbling, and Anne thinks that it’s her name that slips out. 

And it's not fair. 

Unconsciously, she reaches out towards his face, unable to resist comforting him with how distressed he looks; unable to resist reaching out for him as her name sounds like butter falling from his lips.

‘ _They have the same pout_ ’, her brain betrays her, matching another similarity between the sprite and _him_. 

The Gilbert before her melts into her touch, his face resting against the palm of her right hand- a relieved breath leaving his lips as his eyes close. 

Anne takes a deep breath too, her lungs protesting the amount of air that comes in. With his eyes no longer burning into hers, she is able to _think_ for a second, pushing away the voice that so cruelly keeps telling her to buy into the dream; the one that Anne knows is too real, too _vivid_ to be true. 

It’s the celestial creature’s feather-light kisses against her palm, that brings her back, its lips marking her hand as if he is afraid that _she’s_ the one who isn’t real.

Anne pulls her hand back then, a small sob threatening to escape and she curses her mind for painting him here, in a way she has so desperately has craved for years. 

He immediately protests, his eyes pleading with her to _stay_. 

And how was she to refuse him?

She guides him back into the lushness of the bed, her mind crafting it out of thin air for them to lay against. Once both successfully resting against the pillows, she reaches out her hand, allowing herself the selfish moment that she had previously defined herself since waking up to this vision. 

They both sigh as her digits run along the softness of his scalp, his eyes once again closing in visible content at her ministrations. 

She’s brought back to another moment in time there, where her hands completed similar actions on a very similar boy, except they were not just here together in the abyss of her mind.

No. 

This had happened before, this had been real and oh so lovely. 

Anne continues to soothe the being before her, humming softly as if she was settling a babe rather than a figment of her imagination. As Anne watched him lull away back into slumber, her mind wanders away, back to that cold, yet so warm December night; where she and her love had promised each other forever. 

The light that had centered on them then was moonlight, the sky clear and speckled with stars. 

Anne had been up in her gable room, inscribing the magic of the fading day into a letter for Gilbert. 

It was there, as she sat against her chair at her desk when the knocks against her window had started. 

And what laid outside it, well, it was the best Christmas present that Anne could’ve asked for.

Her subsequent descent down her dear yet so icy cherry tree- not so much. 

She remembers holding onto it for dear life, wishing she hadn’t thrown her duvet down to the awaiting arms at the bottom of the tree as she clung to the snow-covered libs. 

She remembers the snickering that came from below and the yelp that left her lips the next second as the Snow Queen gave away with her weight. 

Anne remembers how Gilbert caught her, effortlessly pulling her into his arms as a laugh and a sigh of relief left both of their lips. 

His timid “Hello, love” somehow filled the silence of the night and all she could do was hold on tighter to him, suddenly afraid that she had made him up out of the thin, chilled air. 

“Anne”, he questioned softly, using the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her waist to brush back the mess of red locks that had tumbled out of her braid. 

They had stayed there for several seconds, before she had taken both of his hands into her own, bringing the digits up to her lips. 

“Your hands are cold”, she stated quietly, placing a few smaller kisses against them in awe. 

The pair had moved onto the barn, both recognizing the precarious position they were in for being so close to the house. 

The pair had thrown up Anne’s feather duvet up to the loft, before each making the trek up there with small, yet love-filled smiles across their faces. 

Anne and Gilbert had crashed into one another, drinking the other in and appreciating their presence in the small, stolen moment they had. 

It was somewhere between Gilbert’s shirt being thrown off and Anne’s nightgown well on it’s way to being discarded, that the pair had _somehow_ separated, allowing for their pounding hearts to settle and for any type of rational thought to return. 

It was somewhere between Gilbert’s shirt being returned and Anne’s nightgown once again clothing her body, that the pair had reattached themselves to the other, their fingers connecting as the duvet covered the now curled up pair of doves. 

It was somewhere between Gilbert’s head in Anne’s lap and Anne’s fingers trailing through his hair, that the question had slipped out of his lips. 

He had picked up her hand so delicately, placing a kiss and then the _ring_ onto her finger. 

The hand that he kissed passionately.

The hand that held their promise. 

The hand that now wouldn’t stop _burning_. 

Anne is drawn out of her reminisce as it begins to feel like her veins are on fire, her blood pulsing the inferno through her hand and circulating through her entire body. Gilbert now is far away, his joyful and watery away are fading out of her mind. 

It only when she looks down at her hand in annoyance, the offending sensation having pulled her out of her own personal heaven, that she realizes what had happened- what _was_ happening. 

And just like that, it all comes flooding back. 

The fall. 

The fever. 

The _dreams_. 

It hits Anne all at once, like a horse delivering a fatal blow to the chest. 

She was so _stupid_. 

It was just like Mary, all over again. 

Her weakened chest tightens, it starting to shake as she stares openly at her wrapped up hand.

Without even realizing it, she’s reaching for him, no longer carrying that her mind had made him up just to further torture her. 

Without even realizing it, Anne calls his name, a sound that breaks out of her lips like a prayer and an apology all in one.

Without realizing it, Anne had been slowly fading away, and it was the realization of her situation that rips the sobs out of her chest, the sound echoing into the emptiness of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this hurt. 
> 
> I apologize for this...and for what is coming. I can offer a virtual hug or two? Maybe some Ben and Jerry's? 
> 
> The final chapter should be out sometime next week- most of it is written, it is just the editing and life in the way. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was just starting to wake, the hues reds and orange blending together were visible through squinting eyes as Gilbert began to return back to his own body. 

His limbs are heavy and filled with the remains of a deep sleep, as if he had been out for days rather than the few short hours Mathew had promised him.

He had been dreaming about lying on a beach with Anne; pair curled up like doves as the summer sunshine washed over the shore. The red of soil scrunched up in their toes, the breeze tickling his cheek as his head lay softly in her lap, her fingers caressing his scalp as they enjoyed the warmth of the day and the other’s sheer existence. 

It’s a memory, he thinks, from a day not so long ago, the images becoming fuzzier the more coherent he became. Forcing the picture back into his mind, Gilbert once more remembers the afternoon in which he and Anne had escaped away with Belle in toy to a secluded part of the island, where no one knew their names or had any reason to suspect the two were any less than all ready happily intertwined in the eyes of the almighty. 

It was such a dear and hopeful image, one so close to his heart...and apparently memory- as even though Gilbert was more and more alive with every second, the caressing of her fingers were still dancing through his hair. 

Letting his eyes close once more, he basked in the feelings of her digits running through his untameable curls, leaving the early morning sun and reality behind, instead choosing to walk back down to the shore where he knew she was waiting for him. This feeling...so foreign- so displaced, yet wonderful that it almost brings tears to his eyes. 

This feeling, this warmth spreading through his head and into his chest- he can and cannot place it all at the same time. 

Gilbert’s eyes flutter open. This feeling, although so lovely does not match his current predicament. It doesn’t match with the sun and its greeting, nor does it match with his position in bed. 

Banishing the last of the daze away, Gilbert pulls a palm up to his eyes, rubbing away the haze as he worked to make sense of being somehow between two worlds. 

He takes in the rest of his surroundings:

Mathew’s chair is empty, the blanket he had fallen wrapped himself up in after their midnight encounter was draped neatly over the arm of the wooden structure. 

Upon further inspection, the door of the room was also open, and if his ears were tuning in right, the clattering of dishes could be heard from below. 

‘ _Marilla must be up by now_ ’, He mused as the sensation grew stronger. It was so warm and real, like the Anne of his imagination had joined him out of the pages of their love story, fresh from the waters of the seas and curled up next to him as the morning continued to rise. 

His heartstrings pulled painfully, ‘ _you’ll never get that again_ ’. 

He hears the strangled gasp that escapes his mouth before he can even place it as his own, the sound so sharp and so distraught, a sound too violently charged to bounce around the hollow of his chest any longer. The ministrations against his scalp become quicker and firmer with its release, and Gilbert wants to give into his body once more and just _cry_. 

As even in his dreams, she knew exactly how to calm him. 

The tears begin to fall shortly after, as he mourns another part of the future that will never be. 

“Gil?” The muse calls for him softly, and he briefly wonders if this is it, if God was finally taking him too. 

“Gilbert?”

Her voice was so soft, and he was only a man. He raised his heads from his hands and took another step closer to the sun. 

And suddenly he was wrapped up in warmth, the rays of the sun dancing over his arms and pulling him in. 

Suddenly he was enveloped in _her_ \- her warmth, her arms, her smell. 

His heart pounded as Anne was back in his arms, as the world was set back on its axis once more. 

Her fingers grabbed at his neck as if she was trying to anchor herself ashore- as if she was afraid he would disappear.

And it hits Gilbert then, as her tears begin to wet his neck, that this wasn’t a dream. 

This wasn’t their reunion, finally together in a world where the pain of their lives couldn’t touch them anymore.

This was _too_ real. 

This was _Anne_. 

His head snaps up in recognition from, his heart pounding erratically as he put space between him and-

And Gilbert’s heart stops. 

And then restarts. 

Because lying in front of him, in just as much shock, are the bluest and clearest eyes he had ever seen. 

Lying in front of him, fingers still hanging in the air, is _her_ \- eyes fluttering and readjusting each time she realizes that her brain isn’t tricking her anymore.

It’s _Anne_. 

She’s watching him more intentionally and clearly then he's seen her since arriving at her home days ago. 

She’s breathing better and has more colour to her cheeks. 

She’s here. 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is awake in front of him. 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert is _alive_ in front of him.

And that simple five-letter word is enough for relieved filled tears to begin flowing freely out of his astonished eyes. 

He had been so terrified that he would never get to see this again, that the hollow demons would be the only figments swimming in her azure eyes. 

He had been yearning for any part of her to come back, for even the smallest snippet of his Anne to shine through over the last week of hell. 

He had bargained with every deity out there, to take him instead, if it meant Anne coming back home. 

And for the smallest of moments, Gilbert basks in the notion that it worked, that his ultimate prayer had been answered with her shining eyes taking him in. 

A bewildered smile breaks out across his face and before he knows it, he’s kissing her, drinking her in like a man who had just conquered the dessert. He moves on from her lips shortly after, pressing firm and desperate kisses into her neck and shoulder, breaking away to cup her face and sprinkle more across the freckles of her skin. 

He is so caught up in her that Gilbert fails to notice at first the unchanged clamminess to her skin; the bandage still wrapped around the hand the lies on his leg; the laboured breaths she takes aren't just ones from the heat of the moment that they had shared. 

He is so caught up in Anne being awake, that he briefly forgets that reality behind these stolen moments. 

The reality of her illness. 

And he moves away from her quickly then, as if he had just been burned. 

As if his dependency on the sun and finally caught up with him. 

He has to take a deep, steadying breath- because Gilbert knows this stage of infection far too well. 

All it takes is one look into those eyes, and he _knows_. 

And the urge to scream in his hands arises once more. 

There comes a time at the end of a human’s life, where they are given one good day- the unluckier ones- a few hours; where the pain is almost gone, where they seem like they are making a turn for the better. 

As a physician, he knows what's happening. 

He recognizes the increase in lung function, yet also sees how they are struggling to keep up with the last remaining surges of life passing through.

He understands how her eyes gain yet lose light, as every blink signals that they are getting closer and closer to closing forever.

Gilbert’s know that Anne’s heart is struggling to keep up, and that every moment is becoming more and more of a battle for her to keep fighting the uncontrollable infection.

But as a lover, Gilbert allows himself one selfish moment to take her in. To drink in the remnants of life seeping back into her cheeks, the little cracks of light resurfacing in her eyes. 

He has always been enamored with her, and her beauty even in her final days in this world could never fail to take his breath away.

She offers him a small smile if one could even call it that, the devastating question flowy freely down her cheeks and her lips wobbled as she holds out her injured hand between them and with it, Gilbert crumbles. 

“My...my love,” she chokes out, her voice hitting a hysteric note, the fear, and despair of Anne realizing her situation somehow further manages to stab at his heart; the one that had been vacant from his chest since receiving Marilla’s urgent telegram more than a week ago. 

Gilbert reaches for her, and they weld themselves into one. 

Anne and Gilbert held on as the waves of despair crashed into them, the body of the other anchoring them to earth as the weight of grief threatened to drag them under the water. 

. 

.

.

By the time the tears have dried, or moreover, ran out- the sun is high in the sky. 

The pair are still curled up, limbs tangled in one another and holding on so tightly that not even fate could pull them apart if it tried. 

Hours had passed, concerned parents had been in, and long had notions of property been thrown out the window. 

All that mattered was that they were here, _she_ was here. 

Their hearts had long since calmed, the unit the two shared was pounding softly between them, protected within their arms. 

They had just been lying together; fingers intertwined and occasionally humming in content.

As the hours had passed, they had talked- about his journey to her, how Mrs. Galloway had found her- drenched in sweat and all alone in the dark. 

“All the windows were open on the ground level” He whispered to her and only her, “she noted your absence at church and then the lack of light in the evening”. 

She hums in understanding before letting their brand of comfortable silence wash over them once more. It’s only after another couple of minutes that she speaks.

“I’ve never liked churches”, Anne states plainly, her eyes holding his own. 

Gilbert raises an inquisitive brow. 

She smiles softly, placing a kiss on the back of his hand as she continued, “I was thinking that morning after I had crawled back in bed that I would never step foot in another one if I had any say in it”. 

Gilbert was still confused.

Anne relays her reasoning, a summary of how her prayers belong to her and only her; that the church didn’t welcome some of her most dearest loved ones; and how when it was her turn to get married, she couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun beating down along her skin while cooped up in a hot and stuffy building. 

Gilbert felt a flutter at her mention of a wedding- _their_ wedding. 

He held her eyes then, the vision and words it entailed- the ones they had promised to each other a mere month ago- suddenly came flooding back into his mind. The sentiment aches in his chest, and whether it was joy or sorrow, he couldn’t name just quite yet. 

And it slips out. 

“A June wedding then, outside in the crisp air?” He asks absentmindedly, momentarily forgetting the scope of their current predicament. 

Anne whipped her head around then and just stared at him, her eyes as wide as saucers, their blue depths full of astonishment, uncertainty...and hope? 

It hits Gilbert. He had just thrown their carefully set plan out of the window. 

He had just sent a beautiful, magical and tragic dream out into the universe, and it had fallen on its main character’s shoulders. 

The prime and vital character who was so cruelly being written out of her own story.

He expected her then to yell, to hit or accuse him of teasing her with something that could now never be. 

He expected her to tell him to leave and to never return. 

He did not expect her to grab the back of his neck and pull him into a crushing kiss. 

Gilbert was stunned silent, his lips responding to Anne’s assault before his brain could. 

They broke away soon after that, the inquiry hanging between them like electrified wire, buzzing deliciously and dangerously all at once. She watched him for a few moments as he stumbled with his words.

Anne invaded back into his space, proceeding to softly brush back the mess of his mangled curls, a small smile emerging upon her lips at the frazzled sight of him in front of her. 

She whispered right into his ear, lips against his neck, “A June wedding- in a cream coloured gown, adorned with wildflowers and lace”. 

The image hits him then, the early morning wedding falling into place as he watches her walk towards him, arm and arm with Mathew and Marilla, stepping into forever with him. 

It makes him want to cry tears of joy. 

It makes him want to cry tears of sorrow. 

Instead, he reaches out to touch her hair, “Pearls pinned in and all?”

A genuine smile is painted across her lips as she moves away, catching his Pride and Prejudice reference. “Pearls and all, my love”. 

He imagined the jewels of the ocean glittering in her hair, as the sun beamed down on the pair of lovers.

He imagined readjusting them during their reception, the pins having loosened during their first dance as man and wife. 

He imagined- no, saw- himself pulling them out of the weaved pieces of red, running the beads down her bare and creamy skin, the pair basking in the other bodies as they became one.

The images flashing through his mind must have been clearly painted on his face, as Anne suddenly blushed, pulling him in closer to her.

She shyly whispered, as if she was afraid of anyone stirring and catching her next words, “Married means lots of things, Gil.” She blushed again before reaching up and running her thumb carefully over his bottom lips, suddenly swept up in their would-be wedding night. 

Gilbert has to swallow carefully then, his on hand taking hers and turning the digits over, breaking the building tension with a soft kiss to her knuckles. Still holding her eyes, Gilbert lets out a sigh, a smile of longing cracking. 

“Married means us together, no longer separated by the perils of distance."

Anne hummed happily as he further bought into the dream, “Married means you as a Doctor.” She beamed proudly, the spark of the previous moment fading, “Your graduation and license to work”.

Gilbert bit his lip, pulling her body closer into his side, “The practice would be up and running, a stream of the community in and out of the doors. They would come for aid and advice- and anyone and everyone welcome to equal and fair medical treatment”. He paused suddenly, his fingers dancing around her knee. “I would be able to heal them, Anne”. 

“And when you come back after a long day- or night- to our home, my love, I’ll be waiting for you.” Anne swept up his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“I like that word, _our home_ ,” Gilbert mused.

Anne is softly playing with his fingers, completely swept up into this sanctuary they were building together. She murmurs, placing delicate kisses on his digits, “And where exactly would we live, Gil? In Avonlea- or maybe a community closer to the edge of the sea?” 

“Wherever you want, Anne-girl. Wherever you go...I will follow”, He whispered quietly, his voice becoming thick. 

Anne squeezed his fingers, pulling them into her heart. “The seas sound lovely, imagine all the trips we can take down to the water.” She paused, looking up right into his eyes. The grief was still there, yet a twinkle that he hadn’t seen since their stolen night in December was peaking through the built-up of layers of illness. 

Anne continued on, seemingly present in this oasis. “The white house, with blue shingles along the coast- Gil, we could see it and the beautiful gardens of calla-lilies from the water.” 

“We could build a library and fill it with as much literature that can fit.” She mused, pulling him further into the fantasy. 

Gilbert felt a smile burn on his lips, picturing his love curled up in the room, so content and at peace in the world of fiction that raised her. 

The storm of emotion came flooding back across her face then- as if the world they were painting had been damaged by a bottle of tipped over ink. 

Her grip on his fingers grew even stronger, the hold momentarily taking Gilbert back considering her limited strength. Her eyes were far away and distant now, as if she was only getting a glimpse of the world that held their home- and their children. 

“The nursery would be yellow- and they... they could play in the ocean, Gil”. Anne uttered so quietly, and if it wasn’t for the dead silence of the house now, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her. 

Anne's hands were beginning to shake, the emotions of the image becoming too much for her- too much for _him_. 

He pulls her in then, planting kisses along her neck and as the shaking gets stronger.

Gilbert murmurs softly, right into her ear, unable to not join in on the vision. “That one is forever etched into my eyes. I can taste the saltwater and smell the sunshine on us... _all_ of us”.

He can feel her arm tighten around his neck, pulling gently at the hair that tickled the nape of his neck. He runs his fingers gently through the locks of her semi-matted hair, trying to calm her down as the storm threatened to burst.

“It’s so bright, Anne,” Gilbert spoke sadly after a few moments, another sob starting to build in the middle of his chest. “The waves are crashing in the distance and the combination of the water and the laughter of our children-”

He has to pause and Anne lets him, the wave of sheer grief washing over both of them is hard and all he can do is somehow further retreat into her, burying his face deeper into the crease of her neck. It comes out muffled and croaky, yet it’s so heartbreakingly clear, “It’s the most beautiful symphony I have ever heard”. 

The music that filled this painting was so, so sweet and Gilbert retreats back into the world of his dreams. The colours are so vivid, so real that Gilbert could taste the salt on his daughter's cheeks as he kissed her, feel her little, chubby hands caress his arms, the red wisps of her mother’s hair tickling his palms. 

Gilbert could see his sons quarreling over who got the fly the kite next, the sand of their rushed and playful games being thrown up into the air and swallowed by the wind, their voices following over him like honey being spread on toast. 

Gilbert could feel the warmth of her curled up into his body, her delicate frame relaxing into him as if he was a cloud that would carry away all the strain of her pregnancy. The sun only further brought out the amber flairs of her hair that flew freely in the wind, the strands that had successfully escaped scorching his mind and soul. One of her hands was up at his face, lazily trailing along the stubble that needed to be shaved once again, the other intertwined with his own, lying over their daughter or son in hopes of catching a glimpse of the movement of the youngest of the Blythe’s. 

This vision was one that Gilbert saw every night, the smallest details of the conversations he and Anne had while curled up together only ever changing, as they lied together lazily and oh so in love- watching their family bask in the beauty of their island.

This vision was on that had kept Gilbert sane while tucked away in the casket like city of Toronto, this dream being his motivation to continue on when it seemed like the world was dark and no light would ever enter ever again. 

This vision, once a comfort and a deeply sacred treasure, was now tainted; transformed into a nightmare that only exists to further torment him. 

The vision of a world he and Anne so desperately wanted- no _needed_ \- had been ripped from the most protected chambers of his heart and was now dangled in front of him like a carrot over the last week or so since his Lord signed away Anne’s fate. 

_His_ fate. 

Gilbert moved away suddenly from her then, the syncing of their pounding hearts and her warmth being too similar to that of their mid-summer beach escapade. 

_‘Not real. Not real. Never real’_. 

It chanted over and over again, the mantra chipping away at his soul like the ice pick his father used as a young boy. 

Anne reached up to take hold of his chin suddenly, moving it slightly upwards to capture his eyes once more. Her eyes swam with the same palette of emotions, the despair, and grief and yearning all present in the sea. 

And as if he was a once again a small boy, Gilbert basked in the comfort she offered, as if he was the one that had fallen and scraped his knee against the earth. Except here there was no earth, no field of melted winter debris to trip in and cut a limb on. No simple stitches that could close the wound and a father who would soothe away all the pain. 

In this hell, Gilbert was losing the love of his life, his soulmate; and no simple pat on the knee and ‘chin up, son’ could sew up the carnage from his bleeding heart. 

And suddenly his eyes are open and he’s kissing her _again_ , his body craving and only able to breathe in the type of oxygen that was uniquely _Anne_. 

It's passionate, and messy, and tearful, and so desperate; the pair drinking the other in if the cards would fall at any second. His hands are clawing at her, trying to weld them together- trying to stitch her into him so the Lord could never find her and take her back. She could take shelter in him, in his body and in his soul and what would it matter? Everything Gilbert had and was _belonged_ to Anne; as from the moment her slate smashed into his cheek, her name was imprinted on his heart. 

“I can’t live without you, Anne”, he cries right into her mouth. 

Her own sob escapes then and Anne moves to recapture his lips in an effort to silence him.

Gilbert breaks away after another few, yet softer kisses, the pair breathing heavily as they work to steady their lungs and hearts. 

With their noses still touching and Anne’s digits caressing away the stream of tears off of his face, Gilberts makes a vow. 

“My heart is yours, it always has and always will be, Anne. Forever and always, in this world and or the next”. 

And what cannot be said, is spoken in another language; one so unique to them. 

They cry, they love, and most of all they mourn; for the future both of them had so meticulously planned out. 

For the future that was only a few years away. 

For the future that they had so viciously fought for, and was stolen by one, bloody, rusty nail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! 
> 
> So sorry that took so long- I have my thesis draft due soon and it has been the only thing open on my computer over the past week.
> 
> I guess I should also apologize for the pain of this chapter...but then again for the pain of this entire work. Writing that section on their dreams...well when I say a b&%$h cried...she cried. Coldplay's fix you was also blasting the entire time and it just was fuel to this already burning pile of tears. 
> 
> Oh! I have also added another chapter to this. It was supposed to end here...but it would've been an 8k+ sob fest and I thought it would work better split up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading though! I really appreciate every comment that you leave, it makes my entire day!


	7. Chapter 7

“This is lovely, Gil”. 

Gilbert hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating against her side. The noise brought a smile to her face, already knowing the expression of bliss that must be cast across his own with the afternoon sun soaking into their skin. His sleeves were tucked up to his elbows, the sunlight pouring in to the room and warming the freckles that lay along the surface. Anne wanted to reach out and touch them, the toffee coloured dots covering the forearm that rested over her torso patterned like constellations.

Those same arms, filled with the blessings of the sun, held her tightly to his chest, the hodge-podge scent of pine, musk, and _home_ invading her senses. 

It's the most alive she’s felt in, well, forever. 

They are perched in Anne’s make-shift library, one room of many spares in her forest cottage being transformed into a peaceful and sacred space at her touch. It was her sanctuary, the little piece of heaven racking up more hours spent in then even that of her own bedroom. This hallowed cavern tucked away from the walls of books, curtains of lace and hanged wildflowers, can barely be seen from the door, it’s presence only known to a handful of souls among the admittedly small amount who have been in her cottage before. 

This piece of paradise was where she felt the safest on the Island, sparing Green Gables of course. 

And then there was Gilbert’s arms- and well- maybe there was something better after all. 

With her heart beating into his chest, her breath teasing the exposed skin where the first two buttons of his shirt has come undone, and Gilbert softly chewing at his bottom lip in concentration, Anne can only gaze up at him in wonder. 

‘ _My raven-haired Adonis_ ’, she marvels, taking in the quiet beauty of him.

They’ve managed to leave her room, per her request of not being able to bear another second lying useless, and instead, Anne and Gilbert found themselves tucked away from the rest of the world, a small book of opened poetry swaddled between their hands. Time seemed to slow as the afternoon rolled in, as if the perils of the morning could be forgotten in the safety of fiction. 

He alternates between running his digits along the pages in search of the perfect sonnet and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Anne- with some of her genuine spark- is semi-annoyed that he keeps distracting her from indulging in her world of literature, yet welcomes the butterflies swirling in her stomach each time his eyes drift away from the book, his fingers tracing the text into her flesh. 

Each time, the air would become a little more charged. Each time, he would find a new spot to press a delicate kiss into, before returning to the task at hand. 

Each time, Anne’s breath would catch- her cheeks flushing with content at the moment they had created. 

Gone was the sorrow of the morning, of the ink drying on her sentence. There was nowhere for the darkness to hide here, only the light coating everything and everyone onsight.

Gilbert had moved his attention back towards the book, his eyes running over words greedily. He looked so young in this light, the man before her morphing into the young boy who simultaneously stole her temper and heart in one, single moment so long ago. 

The subsequent closing of the work recaptures her attention and her eyes drift upwards. His counterparts shine down with the question of ‘ _what next_ ’, having already gone through five works of literature in the few hours that the two had been perched together. Anne already has another favourite title on the tip of her tongue, one that she only ties its tragical nature to seconds after Gilbert’s smile falters away into confusion and then pain at her request. 

All the bliss of the previous moment is whipped away as Gilbert protests, gently arguing that the content of the story is too eerily similar...too painfully close to the one being written before him. 

Anne sighs quietly, moving to try and detangle from him in order to find her request herself at his gentle denial. 

(And she truly couldn’t blame him, not with the theme of the play, but Anne just wanted to go through it once more, give the beloved author a proper _goodbye_ , and was damned if her current predicament was going to stop her.

And nothing beats a redhead for a temper, or strength of will.) 

She doesn't get far, her own lack of physical strength and then his arms keeping her in one place makes the task impossible. She huffs in annoyance, however, it is more so directed inwards, for allowing herself to get in this situation in the first place, little actually being drawn at Gilbert's own stance. 

The frustration must be clear as day on her face, as Gilbert lifts her chin up with a finger, his honey eyes swimming with worry, and then resolution.

“Shakespeare, correct?” He asks shyly, a smile appearing with the question he already knew the answer too. Anne gleams in relief and appreciation, that he was willing to do this for her, as she moves to press a kiss on the underside of his jaw. 

He has placed her gently in the chair as he moves around the library to find the correct shelf, returning the poetry book back to its home and moving familiarly in the direction of Anne’s “personal favourites”. She watches through the lace of the curtains hiding away her little alcove as he picks up the worn copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet’, an unreadable expression passing through his face in mere milliseconds as he pats the book gingerly. He lingers a little longer, his shoulder releasing the built-up tension before working his way back over to her, book waving in the air with a half-hearted smile. 

Despite the nature of the story, it somehow brings comfort to Anne, her connection to the characters deepening on a whole new, tragically exclusive level. She thinks it’s this star-crossed fate she shares with the fictional couple, that draws her further into the novel; as if the pages of the book were going to guide her through the next tremulous days...or even hours.

The words are difficult for Gilbert to get out in parts, the change in his voice and body stance giving away his anguish at the story being played out. 

It’s with his shakey: 

_“My bounty is as boundless as the sea,_

_My love as deep; the more I give to thee,_

_The more I have, for both are infinite,”_

that Anne reaches up towards his face, trying to signal her gratitude at the task she knows is difficult for him, that he’s putting on a brave face for in order to fulfill her wish. 

Gilbert shakes his head in response, fully focused on the story ahead. 

(And if Anne was to give it further thought, perhaps the reason he couldn’t stop there is that if he did, the flood would return. 

If he did, he would have to leave the world of fiction she so often sought refuge in and return back to their grime reality. 

If he did, she would have to face the truth.) 

“O teach me how I should forget to think-”

And she does. 

Anne’s heart is pounding as she kisses him, the rushed and passionate and desperate pecks against his lips are the words she can’t say. The words that feel too dangerous to utter. 

She barely registers the book tumbling to the floor, instead preoccupied with his hand twisting into the hair at the back of her neck, in how he drinks her in like he’s just finished a trek through the desert; as if she is the only thing that can replenish his soul. 

The moment fades as her kisses turn featherlight, the air cooling as they both realize that the earth is still here, that they are both still standing. 

Anne wants to apologize, the comfort she had initially found in the retelling of the tragic tale, of another couple being ripped away by fate, has vanished out of thin air. The bitterness threatens to creep into her bones and she can’t get the words out in how she needs to tell Gilbert she’s _sorry_. 

Sorry, for making him read the tale. 

Sorry, she’s put them in this predicament. 

She moves away then, capturing his cheek softly in her hand and his eyes with her own. Instead of her planned apology, a favourite quote of her’s slipped out. 

“Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow”, she whispers, her voice full of atonement. Her eyes are unable to hold his forlorn and now confused gaze, and Anne concentrates on his fingers and how they are twisting into her nightgown, the digits tangling themselves into her. 

It’s several more seconds before either of them move, let alone speak. They are both taking deep breaths, trying to calm their nerves and the wave of uncertainty that has just rolled in; the air around them charging more and more with every second, each syllable’s weight becoming more valuable with as time continues moving by. 

Anne can feel her heart pounding in her chest, wishing she had never made them do this at all.

‘ _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Look what you’ve done, Anne-_ ’

Warms hands find her own then, the digits pressing into her skin, as if their owners were trying to mark her, to hold her down and teether her back to earth. She meets his eyes, the hazel orbs now black as they stare at her with an unreadable agenda. 

His fingers release their pressure, his hands traveling up her creamy arms, moving to cradle her head in his hands. The storm is fading from his eyes, the electricity fading into calm puddles, firm and resolute with the verdict they hold inside. Their foreheads touch first and Anne while unsure of his next words, drinks in this moment where it feels like he’s letting her back in, where their hearts are resyncing back together. 

He pulls her face up to his, gently and urgently all at once. Gilbert is so close to her now, the words on his lips balancing delicately in the air- as if he is daring fate to steal them. 

It is quiet, it is soft and oh so full of love as his, “I defy you, stars”, breathes right into her mouth. 

Gilbert seals his promise on her lips- expressing his understanding, the forgiveness she craves and hiding the sentiment in her depths before fate could intervene. 

The kiss is a promise. 

The kiss is an “I love you”. 

The kiss is an “I’m sorry”, all in one.

Time stands still for the lovers, as what won’t leave their lips is exchanged through their hearts, the pair’s hands pressed over the others as beats fully sync back into one. 

When the clocks start again, she pulls away, there is no hesitation- only fondness and adoration present in his eyes. 

Anne presses her good hand to his cheek and his breath burns her palm. She lets out a shaky sigh as she watches him, the man looking more like the boy she fell in love with every intake of air. Anne rubs her thumb over the apple, the soft yet charged touch conveying the devotion she has for this man who somehow found her, who somehow chose her; despite her flaws and all.

Out of everyone in this world, he was the one that God chose for her. 

And despite the current contempt she has for her saviour, in light of her most sorrowful predicament, Anne cannot help but whisper a prayer up to the one she would soon return home too. 

‘ _Thank you’_. 

Gilbert hums into her hand, the vibration pulling her out of the dream-like state she has momentarily slipped into. Anne meets his eyes then, a question floating in the depth. 

She raises her eyebrow in a similar fashion, a small smile painting her lips as she shares his confusion. ‘Yes, my love?”

Gilbert’s eyes shine with his usual mirth, the feeling last present in a barn so many moons ago. He mirrors her own grin, the air lighter suddenly, all of the tension and uncertainty of before gone. “I think that’s my line, darling”, he whispered quietly, turning his face slightly in her hand in order to place the smallest of kisses upon her thumb. 

It’s like a lightning bolt, the spark rebooting her system, grounding her back to earth.

“I was thanking him for all my blessings...for you”, she answers, realizing with a flush that her private praise had been shared.

The sun seems to radiate through his smile, love pouring out of every crevice of the being Gilbert Blythe was. Anne is momentarily stunned with the glittering of the aura, unable to move with how fast her heart is beating. Gilbert leans further into her touch, placing a few more kisses against the cool of her palm. 

With the kisses applied, his lips move against her skin. “You are my only, my forever,” he murmured into her hand. 

The butterflies of love and want swirl deliciously in her stomach. 

The sparks are cracking in the air, the temperature somehow even warmer now and Gilbert’s own honey depths have darkened several shades, his lips still firm against her hand, his eyes holding her own- almost playfully. She feels the wire between them tightening, the coils of one spring being stretching between two bodies, threatened to snap once more. 

And the next thing she knew, Marilla’s inquisitive voice was ringing in her ears. 

“Anne? Gilbert?” She called from outside the door. “Are you both in here?” 

Gilbert was the first to sigh, the hand currently holding her into him reaching up towards his face, gently removing her palm off of his cheek and into her lap. His eyes twinkle at her, warmth and affection pouring out of his gaze as takes a calming breath before he answers Marilla’s inquiry. 

Anne hears the door open and her mother’s soft footsteps entering into the room moments later. 

Lifting her head off of Gilbert’s shoulder, Anne looks over at the older women, whose despite being under great stress, seemingly radiated the aura of the room. She is wearing a small smile upon her lips, taking in the state of the library. “You have certainly transformed this little space, Anne,” Marilla sighed reflectively, lightly holding a few strands of dried lavender hanging from the ceiling between fingers. She was standing just off to the side of the little nook’s entryway, and Anne let her ponder for several more seconds, the older woman being one of the few knowing exactly where they were. 

She doesn’t enter through the curtain of lace and dried flowers though. but rather keeps her stance, her hands clasped together in front of her. Anne is about to question her hesitation but it’s with Gilbert’s clearing of his throat and her mother’s turned up eyebrow that Anne catches on. The pair had only had eyes for each other in the few hours or so and with the need to be as close as possible, as well as keeping Anne warm, they were left in a rather compromising position, her legs draped over Gilbert’s lap and her body tucked away into his in a very ceremonious fashion. 

She knows that truly, no one would say something, with everyone far too unfortunately aware of their dwindling amount of time together; however, Anne is rather grateful in that moment as a blush taints both their necks that at was Marilla who checked in on them, and not the unshakable force of Mrs. Lynde who had just arrived. 

Still, Anne works to put as much space between her and Gilbert as their current situation would allow, resulting in Gilbert holding up her back as Anne meets Marilla’s eyes, only her right arm still tucked into the warmth of his body. Gilbert turns his head slightly too, indicating his attention with the current predicament of his body keeping Anne upright. 

There is a knowing smile painted across her face as Marilla steps into the small space, standing almost over them with the little standing room available due to the massive armchair. Marilla’s soft and sorrowful gaze washes over the redhead, and Anne swallows sharply then, recognizing the emotion in her eyes. 

And she can’t do it- cannot return to the agony of earlier. 

It is why she and Gilbert were in here in the first place- an escape from reality.

She beats Marilla to her words just then, Gilbert’s steady fingers running over her arm in encouragement. “Everything alright?” She asks genuinely, praying that the simple question will say more than she can. Anne watches as the woman purses her lips, understanding flooding to the surface of her gaze. She takes two steps towards them, moving to place her hands upon both her and Gilbert’s shoulders, and the firm yet comforting squeeze delivered grounds Anne once more. 

She can feel Gilbert softly gasp as if suddenly the air was stolen from his lungs. Anne quickly shifts her gaze towards his own, but his eyes are closed tightly, the lines on his forehead crinkled in.

“How about some broth...and perhaps even some bread?” Marilla asks her, effectively drawing Anne’s concerned attention away from him. A sigh escapes her chest as she knows that Marilla wasn’t asking and Anne doesn’t answer her right away, having no appetite and or allocated time to worry about something as silly as food. Gilbert suddenly speaks a few moments later though, the normal tune of his voice raspy as he agrees with Marilla’s “suggestion”. 

And if his eyes are slightly red, if there is a small tear making its way down the marble of his face, she lets it be for the moment, knowing that he wouldn’t thank her for bringing attention to his state. 

“We could _both_ do with some broth I think, if you wouldn’t Marilla?” Gilbert responds and Anne has to resist the urge to stick her tongue out with his obvious tactic on display. 

Well, at least she tries. 

Gilbert raises an eyebrow at her with the childish action, silently challenging her to disagree with him and she is brought back to their school days- where that single curve was enough to ignite the spark of her temper. Those days have long since past, taking her genuine annoyance of him with it and at this moment as Anne wants to tell him to knock it off- that he is welcome to the whole bucket of bland broth if he so desires- all that slips out is a giggle. The sound surprises her, initially unaware that it was she who had released the twinkling glee. Anne takes in the way in which the duo gaze at her after, as if she seemingly had hung the moon back into the sky and she guesses that it must’ve been as beautiful of a sound for them too. 

And all of a sudden, the trio all bursts into fits of laughter. 

It’s freeing she thinks, as tears begin to roll down from her eyes at the force of the exertion. She hasn’t laughed like this in so long; felt her chest shake purposely and with glee. 

She hasn’t heard Marilla’s twinkling joy in weeks, the sound always surprising those close to her with its contrast to her generally reserved and stoic layer. 

She hasn’t experienced Gilbert’s warmth filled chuckle in _months_ , the expression rarely escaping in the rare moments of time that they had together. His smile is so bright as he takes her in, his eyes too filling with wetness as his gaze washes over her. Anne briefly wishes that she could stay here forever as she offers both of them a dazzling smile, the moment filled with so much light and _hope_ that it is almost blinding. 

But the laughter doesn’t last long, the content giggles turning into chuckles, that turns quickly into wheezes as her lungs begin to fight back. 

That is until the air that escapes her lungs cannot find a way back in, her chest becoming suddenly tight. The spasms come on strong and ruthlessly, her chest unable to cope with the laughter anymore. Anne cannot keep focus as her body starts to scream for air and she doesn't know she’s starting to claw at Gilbert in desperation until his hands are on her face, eyes wild and mouth moving way too fast for her to even dream of comprehending. 

Her eyes close tightly as hands move quickly and desperately at her back. A rhythmic motion is pressing into her abdomen, her back now straight and body immobile against something hard and firm. Gilbert demands in her ear to relax and take shallow breaths, but the words are becoming fuzzy. 

But she tries for him. 

It takes several minutes, and finally, the bluish tint that had speckled over her skin was fading with the few gasps Anne was starting to take as the bronco-spasm started to pass. They were shaky and ill-timed, but she could feel the pressure of Gilbert’s hands on her face as she started to come back to herself, the digits slowly starting to rub across her jaw soothingly with her improvement. 

The moment passes as quickly as it started and by the time Anne catches her breath, there are five pairs of worried eyes on her now in exchange for the previous two. 

Mathew has encroached into the tiny corner of the room, his normally soft voice loud and full of fear as it booms, demanding to know what is going on. He’s taken place by Marilla’s side and Anne watches the siblings share a look of sheer panic as her eyes blinked slowly. She looks away from them, unable to deal with the fear in both of their eyes and instead focuses on forcing her lungs to take another deep and steady breath. The once sunlit warm and suddenly cold, the worry and anxiousness of all present overpowering the aura. 

Her head hits Gilbert’s shoulder, her body wishing for sleep as the exhaustion of the last few minutes starts to fade away with the adrenaline. The concerns of her loved ones blur altogether and all she can do is lightly wave them off, wanting to just go back to reading in the sun with Gilbert, floating back into the world of dreams. 

But Gilbert’s voice in her ear is firm, the words more for her then consoling the rightfully worried others in the room. “She’s okay…” he stumbles for a second, voice catching as he steadies himself. His finger runs along the curve of her jaw, seemingly grounding himself- as if touching her would make himself believe the sentiment. “She’s okay. A spasm- nothing more. She needs rest though, so please, kindly let me get her back into bed.”

Anne’s eyes fly open then, staring at his own hazel counterparts in protest. Her chest feels tight once more as she takes in his words. 

“No!” It rips through her lips violently, taking everyone in the room- herself included- back at the power behind the declaration. Gilbert stares at her with sorrow and confusion in his gaze, pleading with her to listen to him. She stares back defiantly, her fingers gripping into his arm, pleading her own case silently. 

She can’t go back into the room where she was delivered her death sentence. 

She can’t face the bed where she realized she was going to die. 

Where she realized that she was being written out of her own story. 

It slips out again, this time softer, “No. Please...Gilbert, don’t make me go back there”. 

And she sees the recognition paint across his face, she sees him bite his lip in understanding. 

She couldn’t face the demons that plagued her, the ones that were her only companions over the days of fever. 

She’s pleading with him and she knows the moment he lets out a sigh and offers a watery smile that signals his agreement, that he’ll listen. 

Anne doesn’t pay much attention to the room’s emptying, humming gratefully when her parents press kisses to her forehead before their own departure.

Mathew and Marilla both take a few extra seconds, holding her eyes and conveying what neither can say at that moment:

_‘We thought we lost you, Anne’._

_‘Never scare me like that again’._

Anne knows that it might be selfish at that moment, to ask them to leave, to ask _him_ to let her stay, but she doesn’t care. Not right now, not when she thought moments ago she was going to-

“Gil.” 

It is not a question and he tucks her tighter into his chest, the pair needing the closeness of the other once more. 

It could’ve been hours for all she knew. 

It could've been days. 

Anne truly wouldn’t have minded, wouldn't have held a grudge, in the slightest if the Lord would've dragged her up right then and there, as she was so blissfully content to just rest in his arms, spending her last moments wrapped in the love and warmth of Gilbert Blythe. 

But neither of them are ready for that, not now. 

(Not ever.)

So instead, Anne further curls herself into him, allowing her to rest and to seek shelter in the one would she knew who would always protect her.

Gilbert’s the first to break the silence, his words quiet with noting the wide-open door and sure to be open ears not far away. His grip on Anne tightens, fingers digging into her hips. The pressure holds none of the passionate electricity of before, instead, the action is nervously charged, his anxiety radiating off him in waves. 

His eyes are focused, yet seemingly unfocused out the window, gazing at something far away. The knee supporting her legs is bouncing, the energy following throughout his body threatening to burst. 

“I’m sorry”. 

It takes her by surprise. 

Gilbert’s gaze is glassy as the words slip out- like they weren’t meant to. Anne watches as he swallows deeply, taking a breath before moving his head down to meet her eyes. The turmoil she finds swirling inside pulls painfully at her heart, but even more so, it is the layers of guilt breaking through her lover’s crestfallen expression that jabs pins into the already frail organ. 

She shakily reaches up her hand to wipe away the stray tears, unable to not touch him, especially when in distress. She doesn’t want him to cry anymore, as tears wouldn’t turn back to the clock. She doesn’t want them...the amount of time God has allocated to be shadowed anymore with grief. 

She wants the sunbursts and feeling of twirling through marbled halls that Gilbert ignited in her.

She wants to stay in his arms, in this room, where none of the darkness could reach them. 

She wants to keep reading. 

She wants to hear his voice. 

She continues with her ministrations, running her thumb over the apple of his cheek, letting him bask in the comfort of her touch. 

She wants him to be happy. 

She wants _him_. 

Anne decides in that moment that she will continue on, for as long as she possibly can, no matter what’s written in the stars, if it means she can forever stay in his embrace. If she can forever keep his heart beating in her chest. 

If she can have him, to hold and to cherish, in sickness and in health.

So it is with this fire determination to just _be_ , come what may, that she runs her finger down to his chin, arching his head up. His gaze follows, eyes inquisitive and locked on her. 

“Let's get married,” Anne whispers. 

And it takes _him_ by surprise.

He is just staring at her, eyes still wet and unsure of her wording and or she was serious. Anne tries to convey that she’s giving him her answer through her own eyes, the one that he had been patiently waiting for since his initial proposal on Christmas Day.

She’s saying yes; to forever...however long that might be. 

Anne watches with her own delighted and hopeful smile, his eyes glowing and the biggest grin threatened to crack his face. 

And then he’s hugging her, tight and strong like she’s going to disappear any second. 

His voice is muffled in her shoulder and she tries to gently pry his mouth away from her neck in order to get a clear response, but he refuses to let her go. 

“Say it again…” he whispers into her ear, pleading with her to repeat the words. “Please, love. Say that again…Oh God, Anne, tell me I’m not dreaming”. 

Anne moves to pull away then and this time he lets her, his eyes holding more hope than a child awaiting Father Christmas's visit. 

Anne’s, “Yes”, barely can escape her lips before Gilbert is pulling her back into a crushing kiss. 

In the oasis of her home, they decide to get married. 

In the oasis of this room, they promise themselves to one another. 

In this oasis of the moment, nothing can steal their joy away, as, despite the circumstances, these star crossed lovers are granted one, single moment of pure, unfiltered bliss, where their hearts and laughter and tears of _joy_ can blend together.

And even as fate was knocking on the door, threatening to take it away, Anne and Gilbert drink in the other in the oasis of each other, thankful that out of everyone in this big, wide world, that the stars had brought them together, that the lights had guided them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apparently have commitment issues and cannot keep to a chapter limit. 
> 
> But- I swear, I PROMISE that the final one will be the final one. It is already written and ready to go. 
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments on the last chapter! I know it was filled with pain...but I appreciate each one so much!


	8. Chapter 8

The wedding falls into place around them.

The house, once as quiet as its master, is now alive; the sounds of bodies below working in tandem with a new and renewed purpose. 

Gilbert can hear Mrs. Lynde argues softly with Marilla, their voices clashing as something about needing “something blue” is muttered convincingly. Marilla’s strained reply escapes him, the pair having seemingly moved away from the kitchen, just out of earshot from his perch in Anne’s library. 

Mathew had left to fetch Sebastian several hours ago, shortly after they had let their family and friends in on their plans, and the two men were simultaneously tasked with arranging for the vicar to arrive on Anne’s doorstep early the next morning. 

Although, as Gilbert watched Anne’s chest rise and fall, the waves of fear crashed within his veins; the vines of uncertainty weaved together uncomfortably in his stomach. 

As Gilbert held her in his arms, as he watched her fight the aching in her bones for even just a few minutes of sleep, he knew that time wasn’t waiting for him. 

Any of them. 

‘ _ Hold on, my Anne _ ’, he pleaded silently, brushing back the newly brushed tresses of red.

And as if she heard him, her finger lightly squeezed his arm, reaffirming his prayer and answering his request. 

Her eyes blink open, the lids struggling to keep the ocean from retreating. 

The sorrow he expects to see is gone though, as they locked tired eyes. Instead, the waves that crashed in her azure depths are filled with the tides of peace, of resolution. 

Of finality. 

It makes a lump form in his throat.

Gilbert swallows carefully, forcing the emotion back down and praying that the small smile he offers her actually meets his eyes. Her own gaze breaks away just at that moment though, her body further relaxing into him and Gilbert watches as she softly rolls his- no, _her_ \- ring around her finger. 

The green of his mother’s stone glitters in the twilight, the tone of the forest singing against the cream of her skin; as if it was made for her all along. 

Gilbert can’t help but let the smile build on his face, the emotion of seeing the ring had been kept on his person for over five years, shining brightly on the hand that was it’s forever home. 

The grin fully breaks as he listens to Anne softly hum, her eyes closing as she curls back into his chest. 

His gaze is still locked on the ring, the memories of the day and his second proposal from only mere hours ago flooding his mind, as Anne’s breaths became more even against his chest.

They were almost in the exact same position as earlier, Anne’s legs still draped over his own. 

As he clung to her in the afternoon sun- as Anne whispered the words that had echoed throughout his soul countless times- Gilbert had pressed wet and exuberant kisses to her face. 

Somehow, they had broken apart. 

Somehow, they had found the words. 

Somehow, fate let them eat their cake. 

Anne had had him put her down in the chair, her voice leading him over to a box on the window sill. 

Inside the worn down and rust coloured wood, lied all of Anne’s most trusted treasures. Tokens, momentoes and all the letters they have shared with one another over the last 7 years. 

Every, “How are you?” 

Every, “I miss you”. 

And every, “I love you”, carved into the paper, the pages crinkled and stained with the years of careful attention they had endured. 

A particular piece of prose stood out against the crisp white pages and Gilbert couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips as the words photosynthesized through his fingers.

He had turned with the treasure in his hand and Anne had mirrored an equally joyful, yet confused expression painted across her face. 

“I’ve never seen this one”, he playfully had chastised her, eyes drawn back into the page. 

Written- no scrawled across the surface in such a hurried and carefree way- lied three passages. 

‘ ~~ _I adore you_~~ ’. 

‘ ~~ _I yearn for you_~~ ’. 

The last of the prose had been longer, the letters pressed firmer into the page, the ink marking it into stone.

“I am quite afraid, Gilbert Blythe, that I am scandalously in love with you”.

The pair had shared a look that only two lovers would understand as the confession of Anne’s revelation at Queens floated into the air, out into the universe and falling on its intended ears after so many years. 

A single look was all it took for their eyes being able to convey what their hearts were too full to express. 

Gilbert had found his mother’s ring moment’s after, the task at hand momentarily slipping his mind with unsent- although certainly not unspoken- sentiments becoming revealed. 

This proposal, however, held none of the passion that its predecessors once had. 

This time, there were no nerves frayed in the heat of the moment on Christmas Day.

This time, there were no whispers of pure bliss in a stolen winter afternoon.

Sinking shakily to his knee in front of her, as if he was knight being about to be bestowed, Gilbert sank into the sea that was his ‘Queen Anne’, letting the light of her gaze guide him across the sea. 

Anne had tried to pull him back up, tears falling softly down her cheeks, but Gilbert pressed her gently to let him do it properly, his eyes guarded with his soft plea, arguing it would be the only time he would ever do this in his life. 

The memory of her lips on his, the way her ‘ _ always _ ’ had delivered the timed puff of air into his lungs, how her tears mixed into his own as the pair had clung to one another fades with sturdy footsteps approaching. 

Like a puff of smoke, the memory disappears as Sebastien’s hand pressed firmly into his shoulder, fingers delivering the words that he couldn’t bear to hear and Gilbert has to throw his hand into his mouth to silence the sob challenging to erupt from his chest. 

Anne stirred quietly with his chest starting to shake, but Bash ran his fingers softly over her hairline- an action with so much tenderness and was normally reserved for Delphine- effectively calming her.

Without words, Bash keeps them both grounded as finality of the day washed over Gilbert, allowing him to momentarily grieve after standing strong. The older man stood watch, protecting the girl who in the years since his arrival, had become a cherished member of their family- the sister that Sebastien had never had, and would too soon lose.

.

.

.

The morning came too soon, and yet not soon enough. 

If you would’ve asked Gilbert two weeks ago, if he was ready to marry Anne, he would’ve cried with tears of joy. 

If you would’ve asked Gilbert two weeks ago, if he was ready to marry Anne, he would’ve been contemplating whisking her away to town hall-  _ any _ town hall- just to never have to utter another goodbye ever again.

But today, was a day laced with so much longing and sorrow, that it was the only time in Gilbert’s life when he was wishing that he could just stop the clock. 

That today wasn’t the day he was marrying Anne Shirley Cuthbert. 

That their wedding certificate wouldn’t bare her name. 

That her death certificate wouldn’t bare his. 

The feeling eats away at him all morning, the ball of bitterness and enmity and yearning all swirling together inside as he awakes holding her in his arms, as he is escorted from Anne’s room to get ready and into the kitchen. 

And it is like he’s in purgatory, one foot on either side of the lines of life, his heart divided straight down the middle. 

Bash is dressing him in a clean shirt, pulling him through the motions and Gilbert is brought back to a time where his father did a similar action, where his arms were threaded through the starchiness of the fabric, where his collar was done up with pride. 

His father's words ring in his ears, John Blythe’s hands gripping his shoulder reaffirming that, “You will have to learn how to do this yourself, son.” The older of the Blythe’s had buttoned his pallbearer jacket tightly, a sad smile over his face,“Your grandmother raised you well, let’s make her proud.” 

Gilbert remembered how his father had brushed the non-existent dust off his shoulder, swallowing deeply before guiding him off to say goodbye to the women who had raised them. 

That time he had his father to lean on, the older of Blythe's tucking him into his chest as they buried the remaining member of their clan. 

At his father’s funeral, he had Mrs. McCannon paving the way, helping him pack up the house and finalize paperwork with the bank the following days. 

He had had Anne then, even when he pushed her away. 

Her spirit comforted him in the darkest of nights, her face glowing in the fire as he ate his regular supper of porridge by the flames. 

He had  _ Anne _ then. 

Even across the ocean, guiding him through and then home from the sea of grief.

“Blythe?”

Bash was shaking his shoulder softly, a concerned look painted on his faith. 

If Gilbert was on earth at that moment, he would’ve heard the first of Sebastien's many calls.

If Gilbert was on earth at the moment, he would’ve recognized how close he was to fainting. 

And Bash, the second his legs gave out, grabbed him by the hip and dragged him out the door. 

The screams erupt from his chest moments later. 

The guttural and primal anguish flowing out of his heart like a broken pipe in the well. 

In the safety of the only other person in the home that knew what it was like, watching their heart fade away in front of them, Gilbert releases everything that he had buried over the last week. 

The overwhelming light of marrying Anne combined with the absolute pitch black of losing her spurned a hurricane, and Bash just lets him ride it out.

“How will I go on without her?” He sobbed into the man holding him up.

How was he supposed to marry her in the suit he was going to burry-

“Your heart is up those stairs- she guided you across the ocean and back into your home,” Bash said firmly, his own voice fighting to stay level.

“She brought life into your soul, and you will go up those stairs and you will marry her.”

Gilbert's head rose off of his shoulder, holding the man's eyes as he absorbed his words. 

“She will always guide you, Gilbert,” Bash paused, smiling softly before paying a knowing glance up at the sky. “They are never truly gone”.

Gilbert's own drifted up the window, where Anne was waiting with their family in tow.

He was going to marry Anne. 

He was going to marry  _ his Anne. _

He was going to defy the blasted stars that were hell-bent on breaking them and marry her, even if it was the last thing either of them ever did.

He was going to love her, without any strings attached.

The resolution must be pouring within his own hazel depths as Bash moves to hold his shoulders. 

“You have a family behind you, Blythe.” His hand holding onto his own, “By grace, you will make it through”. 

.

.

.

As Gilbert enters her bedroom, he enters their makeshift chapel. 

The vicar greets him as he crosses the threshold, his firm grip understanding as he moves further into the room.

Mathew, Marilla, Mrs. Lynde, the Galloways, and now Sebastian, are placed along the sides of the bed, faces featuring an assortment of smiles and tears. 

As he travels around the bed, he takes in the windows, freely open and carrying the unseasonal warmth into the cottage as the sunshine basks over the room. The space has been painted over in lace curtains, the ones that Diana had sent over to Anne so many moons ago. It is almost like they are meeting each other in the early dusks of June, the sun blessing their union with a smile.

As he stands by Mathew's side, Gilbert gets his first peek of Anne since he was rather rudely (although he holds no contempt) escorted out of the bed she now awaits him in early this morning by a bewildered Rachel Lynde.

The lace shawl covers her shoulders, a small bouquet of pussy willows and winter fawn gather lightly in her hands. 

The mix of the blue fauna twisted into her hair makes his heart stop. 

And Gilbert is sure he has gone to heaven when their eyes meet. 

The expression of bliss painted across her face and shining from her eyes brings him down from the sky, his heart pounding erratically as he drinks in the nymph before him.

It is all he can do as they move through their ceremony, to tie himself to her soul and let her keep him on the ground. 

Their vows come too quickly, and Gilbert is at a loss for words. 

Always one step ahead, Anne squeezes his palms in reassurance, holding his eyes in love and comfort and she binds herself to him in the eyes of the Lord. 

“With this ring, my love. May you always know one thing, that you have all of me, in this life and the next.” 

Anne’s words grow quiet on her lips, her eyes pleading with him to understand everything she can’t say. 

“It’s always been you,” He finishes softly, sealing the sentiment that she couldn’t find, returning the smile to her face.

“It took a million wrong notes just to find a single melody and key where I could have you and nothing's ever made sense until you were next to me, Anne”. 

Gilbert swallowed, his gaze never fraying. 

“I promise to cherish and honour you with all my days, building castles in your name”. 

“I promise forever, Anne girl”, he whispered against her lips bringing them together as one while the vicar finally pronounced them as man and wife. 

And it’s a beginning. 

And an ending. 

And “I’ll see you soon”, all in one. 

. 

.

.

On January 15th, almost two days after her wedding, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert- _ Blythe _ left the earth, surrounded by her darling husband and those that she loved. 

If Gilbert had anything to be grateful for- and there were so many despite the nightmarish circumstances- it was that Anne had gotten to say goodbye to  _ all _ she loved, sending her prayers and final wishes either verbally and or through written text. 

Marilla, Mathew and even Mrs. Lynde and Sebastien all had had their moments with her, all soaking in the fragile time that they had left with their girl. Letters for Diana, Cole, Aunt Joesphine and Delphine were all written and safely tucked away, their recipients unable to make the journey to say goodbye to their most beloved kindred spirit. 

So yes, Gilbert was thankful in the end, that they had had two extra days with her, Anne  _ somehow _ pulling through and holding on until  _ he _ was ready to let her go. 

And if one was to ask, he wouldn’t be able to explain even if he wanted to. 

As how is one able to go on without their homes, the one who carries their entire heart and soul? 

For his dad, it was him. 

For Bash, Delphine. 

Mathew and Marilla had each other in losing their family and even now with the loss of their daughter, had the other to turn into as they mourned.

But for Gilbert, the one person he loved more than ever was gone, having taken his heart with her. 

The only reason he was standing in the days that passed- the only reason he was able to push air back into his lungs during the following the months, no, years of grief that followed the loss of Anne, was the promises he made her; the promises paper mache over the hollow of the cavern of his chest.

They had made a game plan, a blueprint of sorts, the night after their wedding. While they were tucked up her, now  _ their  _ bed, a ‘traditional’ wedding night was out of the question- although neither of them felt cheated in the slightest- regarding the circumstances. He and Anne had braided themselves together in their own way, their souls intertwined so intricately.

In the moonlight of their oasis, man and wife shared their first dance. Stood on his toes and held up by his arms, Anne and Gilbert twirled softly in the safety of the night, just a pair of lovers finally at peace.

He often thought of that night, where their heartfelt promises had been stitched into the other, going through the rest of his life. 

How in the end, when there were no more words, when her fingers lost their hold on his own digits, that they were able to convey every thought and emotion that came flooding to the surface just through a sheer glance. 

How in her final moments, Anne had comforted him and assured him that  _ he _ would be okay.

He had humored her then, his voice stolen as he watched her heart give way, pressing desperate kisses against her face. 

He couldn’t tell her then that he wouldn’t go on. 

That his heart would cease to beat the second her’s stopped. 

How he was so close in the following days after her death, too close to chasing after her recklessly and desperately; so lost without his light in the world. 

In his darkest moments as a physician, it was her face and essence that shone through him, pushing him forward in the face of justice. 

It was the words whispered that night that brought him through the darkness. 

It was the letter pressed into his hand the night after her burial at Green Gables, the one Anne had seemingly written only days before his arrival, where Marilla’s sorrowful eyes had pleaded with him in front over her barely settled stone, that had saved him.

It was Anne, even from beyond the grave, that brought life back into his body. 

That gave him a purpose to go on.

In the wake of his biggest accomplishment, the development of a mould experiment gone wrong in Toronto, the first chemical combatant was produced to fight infection. It was her face, along with that of his beloved sister, Mary, whose legacy welcomed the development of ‘Penicillin’; the result of over 20 years of resolute dedication and work. He and his colleague, Dr. Fleming, had worked tirelessly, and for Gilbert- its birth and then success- was the fulfillment of the promise that he had made Anne on their wedding night, now so many years ago. 

And when Gilbert’s time finally came, he was not afraid, and or angry with God for ‘cheating’ him out of life so early. Instead, he saw the moving automobile too late and had no regrets as he slipped away. 

He had lived a good life, one that he was proud of. 

He had kept his promise to Anne; the one where he would continue to live, to fall in love with the world again. 

To plant the flowers for the minutes they outgrew. 

He made frequent journey’s to visit her in the years that passed, bringing her flowers and other ornaments that spoke to him in his day to day life. 

He kept her company on her birthday and holidays, telling her about anything and everything that he had been working on and seen. 

He wrote her letters, sharing his worries, fears, and anger with how the medical community had developed in the turn of the century. 

He spun her tales of places he visited, her picture safely tucked away in the front cover of Mathew’s pocket watch.

She was the face that had greeted first thing in the morning, and the last one he saw at night. 

She was the sole occupant of his dreams, their lives playing out in another, heavenly world just out of reach.

In this world though:

Bash had remarried, he and Mrs. Stacey found comfort, friendship and then love within each other, and was flourishing as a successful farmer out of the Blythe-Lacroix orchard. Delphine, with a few influential words from Gilbert, was working her way towards an apprenticeship in Charlottetown, caring for and tending to animals as a hopeful doctor herself. 

Marilla and Mathew, bless their souls, had long since joined their girl, neither of the pair being able to continue on long without the spirit that Anne had brought alive in them both. 

Green Gables was still running smoothly, the farm and property being under the dedicated care of Jerry Baynard and his sons. 

The last he had heard of Cole, he was off in Paris, living a life that fulfilled him both emotionally and artistically. Josephine Barry had passed on a mere year later, a substantial amount of money being left to him with the simple note, ‘ _ fulfilling my promise to your rose _ ”. He believed that it was Minnie May who resided in her home now, having dedicated her life to improving the lives of the misfortunate of Charlottetown.

He and Diana kept up regular correspondence throughout their lives. Her parents had returned to England a few years ago, leaving their trust in Diana to take over the land and she had been running the Barry’s export business out of her old home, with the love and support of her husband. She had a busy life with her family and flourishing farm, and him with his research firm in Toronto left little opportunity for the pair to cross paths, but when the two would meet, the missing member of their trio would always find a way to shine through. 

Therefore, when the car hit, Gilbert didn’t feel cheated, no- not at all. Rather, he felt as if he was the one that had been living on borrowed time and the universe had only just caught up with him. 

For Gilbert, his number was up the day, the single second, that Anne had taken her last breath; his own soul following hers into a world he was not privy too yet. 

And as he crossed over now, he wasn’t alone. 

The hands that reached for him were ones he knew very well, and her eyes, well, those had been forever etched into his own as no more than a mere boy. 

The ocean twinkled within and the azure water were so bright, the waves of light and emotion providing such a stark contrast to the last time Gilbert had gazed upon her, and it momentarily took him by surprise.

Whispering softly and seemingly recognizing his hesitation, Anne pulled him in gently, “Hello, my love”. 

And like two magnets that had been forced apart for so long, both of them shook within being only inches from the other; the years of separation and longing between the two sparking as the seconds seemed to draw on. 

Unable and unwilling to spend even another millisecond apart, the pair of star-crossed lovers crashed into one another, the sparks of the transaction flying off them in waves as the two halves once again became whole. 

He pulled away from her lips and buried his head in the nape of her neck, letting the copper locks that haunted his dreams engulf him in flames. 

“Please, love, tell me I’m not dreaming,” Gilbert choked wetly into her hair, “tell me that this is real”. 

And it had to be. 

Anne's eyes were too blue. 

This Anne’s nose upturned in the exact same manner. 

This Anne clinging to him not only passed the physical ‘head to toe’, but the aura that fell around her and simultaneously wrapped him in was not like the others; it was too uniquely  _ her _ to be replicated. 

Her hands at that moment tightened around his torso, as if she was welding herself into him. “I’m here, Gil”, she replied, loosening her hold only to reattach their hands, “ _ We’re _ here.” 

As they pulled away, he noticed the sun was alive, the sand in his toes, and the roundness of her stomach. 

The laughter in the background was beginning to tune in and it was music to his ears as Anne’s smile radiated up at him. 

“Come on, my love.” She pulled at his hand, leading him along the beach. “We’ve been waiting for you”. 

The scene before them grew ever wider as raven and cooper haired children ran along the banks of the sea, John Blythe right on their heels. A redheaded couple was mingling happily with Marilla Cuthbert and...Michael? 

Gilbert knew that man was not Mathew, for the latter sat beside a little girl in the sand, patting the wet sand into shapes much to the glee of the child. Marilla and the auburn-haired women were embracing, astonished and grateful looks passing through their faces. Other familiar faces were patterned along the shore of this paradise, old friends and lost but never forgotten family members all present.

His- no,  _ their _ families were basking in the warmth of the sun, as if they were all waiting for him to return.

In the distance, lied their house of dreams; the white glittering in contrast to the harshness of the soil. “The shingles on the roof have faded”, Anne murmured softly, her eyes glued ahead, drinking in their children and family carefree. 

He picked up her hand then, the one with the faded and jagged white scar, placing a kiss along the mark.

“We have forever, Anne,” Gilbert spoke softly in her hand. 

She pulled their intertwined fingers down to lay in between them, a dazzling smile painted across her lips as she nodded in agreement.

_ ‘Forever _ .’ 

Side by side and watching their dream- no reality- before them, Anne and Gilbert stood together, united and  _ finally _ at peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINISHED IT!!!
> 
> (and please don't hate me) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking through with me, this is the longest I have ever written and there were so many times I thought about just giving up. But it's your support (and message of pain I've caused :) ) that finished this.
> 
> I hope you can forgive me...I tried to give them their happy ending in the end! This whole story started with rewatching Daisy and William's wedding in DA- and while they certainly were not the destined pair A&G are...it got me thinking...and now we are here.
> 
> I have this idea of a one-shot, of a "what if" (if you may) that I'm thinking about doing- perhaps branching into "fluff" (?). Don't hold me to it- or do, I feel like I kinda owe it to Anne and Gilbert to give them something after the meat grinder I just put them through...
> 
> Anyways, thanks again!!!!
> 
> (p.s I used a full line and then took inspiration in another spot from Sleeping At Last's "Next to Me" in this, can you find it?)
> 
> (p.s.s absolute full credit to Dr. Fleming for Pencillin- I can't imagine where we would be without it today)


End file.
